The Chronicles of Katniss Part 1 - Everdeen
by gaushawk
Summary: Katniss Everdeen has lived in District 12 for 25 years since the rebellion. A call takes her back to the Capitol and her role as the Mockingjay. Agreeing to a mission, Katniss is trapped far from home, with scant hope of return. Finding her situation has been caused through treachery, Katniss finds her resolve to escape but, at the last, her hopes are left in tatters. (Part 1)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**

Thank you for reading my story. It is, of course, based on the original ideas and characters in the Hunger Games, created by Suzanne Collins. The Hunger Games is her intellectual property and I am not allowed to generate income from this volume of work, which is my intellectual property. It would be great if Suzanne Collins franchised the Hunger Games Universe and allowed publication through associated authors.

Please note this version of my novel is still in draft. I will continue editing to eliminate various issues with story continuity, grammar, spelling and issues that go against the rules of good writing. Any feedback (private messaging for edits), reviews, favs would be greatly appreciated.

I was always interested in how Katniss's life would pan out. There are many fanfiction stories about the actual Games and alternate stories about Katniss, Peeta et al. There is, however, very little about Katniss in the future. This is my continuation of her life, 25 years after the trilogy. The story is true to the books, not the films.

The contents here-in represent Part 1 of the Chronicles. Part 2 will be published a few weeks after Part 1. Based on interest in this story, I may complete Part 3. The story does have a strong ending for Part 2 though.

**The Chronicles of Katniss - Part 1**

**Coming Home**

The sleek silver train races along the line, like an arrow shot from my bow, except it is coming towards me and instead of bearing death it carries life. Peeta! He is coming home from the latest Senate sessions and a Senate review of some projects in District 11. He has been gone two months this time round and the children insisted we meet him at the station.

Winter has just started but already the snow is deep with the outlook for more, a lot more. It was a cold autumn, colder than most since the rebellion. On cold days like this I prefer to stay indoors, keeping warm and helping the children with their schoolwork, chores and hobbies. As a Senator Peeta usually has a government car that drops him at our house. Nevertheless, the children insisted, not just on going but also walking, so we wrapped up and trudged along the snow-covered road to the station which is still under construction.

It is harder controlling the children when Peeta is away. He is so good with them, answering their never-ending questions, their demands for play-time and wrestle-time and any other time they can think of. He takes them into the snow in winter and builds shapes, of men, of plants, of animals. They toboggan across the meadow and make snow angels. He takes them into the forest in summer to swim in the lake and pick flowers for me, always looking for my own flower in the wet areas, and for primrose, for my sister's memory. Then they weave baskets to carry the flowers home.

They seem happiest with him home. It is hard to be a fun parent. I feel guilty about it, so I let Peeta do 'fun'. Anyway, someone has to be responsible. But things changed when he was elected to the Council and then the Senate. All of a sudden it was me on my own.

The train eases to a stop at the end of the line where the builders have not yet completed the platform upgrade. After a delay that feels longer than it is the doors slide open. Which door will he come out? The children shout excitedly. They spy him a fraction of a second before I do. He steps down onto the snowy earth, looks up and smiles a tired smile directly at me. Then his attention is stolen from me by the arrival of our two children in his arms, jumping simultaneously at him. He laughs as they nearly knock him over, his artificial leg almost collapsing.

"OK, OK, that's enough" he laughs, but hugs them hard for a few seconds longer until they wriggle and beg for breath.

Peeta turns to his bodyguard and after a few words shakes his hand. The guard is grateful as he sets down Peeta's luggage and moves away; he is happy to go home to his family sooner than expected.

"Help me with my bag, Stone," Peeta says and walks toward me without waiting for our son to comply. Stone always does what his father tells him. With me it is different. Stone often rebels, but Peeta has a way with people, our children included. His words are always the right ones, used the right way.

Peeta reaches me and opens his arms without speaking. I step into his embrace and snuggle against him. This one place is where I am at peace. I miss him so much, I wish we had not agreed that he should join the Senate, but we need the money and with such a small population, Peeta is an obvious choice to represent District 12 in the Capitol. The children push from each side and squeeze between us, giggling.

With a smile, I say "Come on, let's get you home and warm, we don't want you freezing to death out here." His coat is not thick enough for this cold snap although he does have on a scarf and gloves. The weather in District 11 is so much warmer than here during winter, it being further south. I should have brought his thicker coat from the house but the children rushed me when we heard the train was due to arrive.

Stone is struggling with the case that is too large for him to carry so Peeta, still stronger than most men I have met, picks up both the case and Stone and starts the walk to our house. Stone is, in looks, a copy of Peeta with light hair and grey eyes. In build he is slender and tall, lithe and athletic. At nine he is five years younger than his sister. I expect he will pass her this year in height. Unlike me he is always laughing, always playing games or playing the fool.

We still live in Victor's Village, on the side that escaped the destruction of the Capitol bombs, although we are walled off a few years ago from the memorial built to the fallen of District 12. There is also a memorial to the fallen Tributes from the Hunger Games, now referred to mostly as Sacrifices, as well as to the four victors District 12 did have.

I always wonder why we haven't changed the name from Victor's Village. The name and the memorial bring back memories, some very painful, so I mostly use the new entrance to avoid the view of the memorial. With all the other reconciliatory initiatives the Senate has implemented, I would have thought we could change the name. Maybe I should ask Peeta to change it.

I walk next to Peeta whilst our daughter, Jewel, skips on the other side. "What was it like in Missippi?" asks Jewel, then, before Peeta can answer, Stone asks, "Did you bring us presents?" "Stone!" I react instinctively but Peeta laughs aloud and winks at me. "You'll have to wait until I get in front of the fire to check if there is something in my bag". Stone starts to reach toward the bag but Peeta somehow manages to keep it out of his reach and still not drop either the bag or Stone.

He turns to our daughter and says, "Jewel, Missippi is warm!" he emphasises the last word, makes it feel warm and cosy. I think back to our Victory Tour – it takes a few seconds to work out - 26 years ago. The year before the rebellion started in earnest. It was not so warm that day we visited.

I left our vehicle at the house because the children wanted to walk. After days of being holed up in the house because of the weather the children needed to get rid of some energy, so it was better to get out of house early. Besides, I feel guilty that we have a luxury like that. District 12 is still the poorest district with the smallest population, despite immigration. Peeta does not seem to mind the walk though, he has been on a train for a day, and is enjoying the banter with the children as we walk. I am quiet, enjoying having him home. He awakes a sorely missed calm in me when he is home.

He was in the Capitol and District 11 this time, to look at farming improvements that may be useful to the other Districts. They call the District Missippi now. Every District has a name but old habits die hard for some. The older people still use the District terminology. District 12 is now Appalachia, but mostly we say 12, or sometimes District 12. The children are different, which is good. One day the ghost of the Capitol-dominated days of Panem will be gone.

On the way back we encounter Jessa, Granny Sae's granddaughter. She is Sae's only living relative. She was one of the survivors of the District 12 firebombing, just old enough at the time to still remember the terror and the destruction. She has never thought to leave District 12, instead staying with her grandmother, helping with her work and gradually taking over. She is a tall, slender young woman in her early thirties, with coffee skin and curly black hair like her father. With all the physical work she does I am surprised she is still so slight, she is much stronger than she looks. She is still single although she is involved with a young farmer who moved from District 11 to help with the farming programs.

Granny Sae is still looking after Haymitch, although Jessa does most of the work. We stopped calling her Greasy a long time ago, after she and Jessa moved in to Haymitch's house. The frequent bathing and change in lifestyle, away from Hob life, changed Sae too.

Jessa tells us that Haymitch is at his house and that she is going to the shops. When I frown she assures me it is just for food and milk. I ask her for a few small items and she adds them to her list.

"Be careful. Remember, the road is tricky in the dark," I warn.

By the time we get to Victor's Village, my nose is tingling from the cold. Peeta sets Stone down so that he can fit through the door that Jewel ran ahead to open.

"Quickly, quickly, everyone in before the cold gets in" she orders. Jewel is fourteen now, born eleven years after the rebellion. Although she grows every year she is not as tall as her classmates. She has dainty facial features with dark hair and eyes that change between grey and light blue, depending on her mood. Her petite stature belies an inner strength and determination that makes her a true leader amongst her peers. Sometimes I find her telling me what to do and have to remind her who is the mother. Sometimes when I talk with her I think she could have been Prim's daughter, with her personality and interests.

We bustle into the house and she closes the door harder than she should, as is if she is fighting to chase the cold out. Jackets, gloves, hats, the outer layers are stripped away and hung on hooks in the entrance.

"Come look at what we made, daddy!" shouts Stone and jumps up and done with excitement. He does everything with massive amounts of energy.

Jewel and Stone drag Peeta to the lounge, the warmest room in the house after the kitchen. We spend most of our time in the kitchen, keeping busy during the cold. Whilst I cook and mend clothes, the children do homework and hobbies such as drawing and painting.

I pick up his heavy bag and take it upstairs to our room to unpack it. The locks have his standard code on them. Inside all his clothes are neatly folded and expertly pressed. At least there are some benefits to being a Senator. Despite the fresh clothing I can still smell the fragrance of his after-shave coming out of the bag. I love the fragrance, the freshness of lemon and orange are dominant. We rarely had citrus before the rebellion. Perhaps that is one of the reasons Peeta likes it.

As I pack the clothes and toiletries into Peeta's cupboard I hear him umming and aahing at the pictures the kids are showing him. Jewel is older but also has Peeta's talent, her pictures are worth putting on the walls. Stone's efforts are less precise but the colours and enthusiastic brush strokes require as much comment from Peeta. I keep the packet that contains the gifts separate. After I have packed everything away I go down to the kitchen with the packet and place it on the table.

The daylight is fading now so I put on the lights and start preparing for dinner. The kitchen has a centre counter with a cooker next to a food preparation area. We remodelled a few years after the rebellion. It helped with our therapy to change the interior of the house, the colours, and the layout. Only Victor's Village was left in 12 and by the time they had built more houses, we decided there was no point moving.

I have been cooking a stew since early this morning. Stone and I collected the herbs from the forest and the vegetables from our small garden. The rabbit I caught on a snare a few days ago. It was unexpected, considering the cold.

Peeta's salary is good and can buy us everything we need so I do not have to hunt. Nevertheless, I need something to keep me busy when the children are at school and Peeta is away. Otherwise my mind starts to wander and twist in on itself. Peeta has suggested many activities but nothing really interests me.

Most of the time I take what I kill to the house by the lake for the settlers. We have an understanding, the settlers and I. They work so hard building and farming and trying to establish a life on the land given to them by the Senate, so a bit of extra meat always helps. And, depending on the season, they bring some of their crops to the lake house as a trade. It gives me a fresher variety of produce.

The lake, a large tract of land around it, and the house, were granted to our family through the land distribution act 20 years ago. Peeta and I renovated it and went to it to swim and cleanse the memories when they were particularly bad. I taught Peeta, and later the children, how to swim. Just as my father taught Prim and me. Hot summers are the most active times at the house. All through the years, the settlers would come through that area to get to town so I started helping them with medicine and food, either bought or caught.

Peeta comes into the kitchen and lets out an appreciative "mmmm" when he smells the stew. My cooking is much better than it used to be. He walks over and gives me a hug from behind. I lean backwards into him and turn my head to kiss his cheek before twisting around and putting my arms around him. We are both forty-five now, but we are in good shape, and hugging him is still something I love to do.

"I missed you", he says, "It is good to be home". He closes his eyes and pushes his head into the curve of my neck. His fragrance is comforting and fresh, it suits him and calms me. I hold him for a few moments and then say, "I brought the packet down, it's on the table."

"Thanks for unpacking", he says with a smile, then goes across to the table. "I'll hide this until after dinner." He puts it in the pantry cupboard. "The kids are doing really well, they look happy."

"Happy that you are home, I think."

"Well, any change is exciting. But I think you are doing well with them, keeping them healthy and active."

I am not sure what to say, so eventually just say thanks. I don't think he knows how difficult it is without him, but I can't put that kind of pressure on him so I leave it.

"How are things at the Senate?" I ask, changing the subject, as I take some bakery bread out to cut. Peeta still makes the best bread; he will make some for us tomorrow I am sure. Probably the seed loaf and the sour dough. The sour dough is my favourite, especially when it comes out the oven. I eat it without any spread, savouring the slightly salty flavour of the bread.

He walks around to the counter with the fruit bowl and picks out a crispy green apple, "The trip to Missippi was good, there is so much going on and so much sharing of knowledge. They have put a lot into assisting the other Districts, even sending people to each district to teach them better farming methods. The settlers can only benefit from the sharing." He tosses the apple up repeatedly, as he would a small ball.

"I also stopped in Atlantis." A note in his voice catches my attention and I pause with the food preparation.

"There have been riots. Small, nothing like before, but people are unhappy. They expected more reform in the twenty-five years since the rebellion. It was hard being the Senator appointed to calm the situation. It was hard because I agree with them," Peeta says with a hint of disillusionment.

A knock at the door stops me asking any questions. It is Jessa with the items from the shop. I thank her and kiss her cold cheek before hurrying her off to get warm at Haymitch's house.

The meal is ready so Peeta calls for the children while I dish up bowls of the steaming stew with thick slices of bread. We sit around the small four-seated kitchen table, Jewel to my left and Stone to my right. They both want to sit next to dad.

It is nice to sit as a family to eat dinner again. I sit and watch the three of them, talking over each other and laughing. It is noising and frenetic but strangely calming.

Peeta starts telling them all that is going on in Panem, in the different Districts. New plans for settlements, new fashions in the Capitol, Senators that are retiring. They bombard him with questions. With all the talking, he still has lots of food when the rest of us have finished eating, so I ask the children to tell Peeta about school and events. He hears about the new shops, the teachers they have at school, the changes, so many changes, which are going on in Appalachia. He listens intently and is almost finished when Stone mentions Haymitch's fall. He stops Stone and looks at me with a 'what' in his eyes.

Haymitch still lives in Victor's Village with us. Haymitch is getting older, he is in his sixties now and the fifty years of white liquor abuse has taken its toll. He is lucky to have Sae with him. She moved in years ago; it was a synergistic relationship. He became unfit for work and quit the Senate. The state still provides him with a Senate pension. It is less that the 'winnings' from his Quarter Quell victory but he gets by. I think over time he has come to terms with some things and the amount he drinks is much less than in the past. Still, even now few people could out-drink Haymitch. Perhaps his body has built up an immunity to the effects.

Whatever his condition, he is like a true grandfather to Jewel and Stone. Stone visits often to hear stories and get contraband sugar treats. Contraband from my point of view, not Haymitch's. He has more than enough energy without Haymitch fuelling the fire. Haymitch has so much patience with the children, teaches them tricks and jokes.

Not the jokes he tells Peeta and his other friends though. I drew the line a year ago when he had been drinking heavily and weaved his way to our place. I think he was lonely, and it was the 25th anniversary of the last Hunger Games, fifty years since he won his Quarter Quell, so he needed to talk. The children were sitting between Peeta and Haymitch when he started telling a story to Peeta that shocked even me. I had to get the youngsters out and spent two days avoiding the requested explanations.

"Two weeks ago the snow falls were light and then it changed to sleet, turned everything on the ground to ice. Haymitch was going into town, for supplies he said, when he slipped on the road. He hurt his back and twisted his ankle. It was about two hours before Jessa came over to tell us he was due back but didn't arrive."

"We took the car and found him. When I saw him sprawled on the road a wave of panic hit me. I ran from the car screaming his name. It woke him but he was near frozen. How we lifted him into the car I don't know but we did, and drove straight to the clinic. After he had been treated, admitted and sedated we came back to the house where Sae was looking after the children."

"She was distraught, saying his name over and over. Haymitch, Haymitch, Haymitch. When I hugged her she suddenly burst into tears, her body heaving against me. When she calmed down, I took her to him. She cried over his bed, rubbing his hand and brushing the hair softly from his brow. It was very late at night when I came back to relieve Jessa. I had to leave Sae at the clinic; she wouldn't leave him."

Peeta had listened quietly all the time I related the events. "Where is he now? What is his condition? Why didn't you let me know sooner?" It's obvious the news is as hard on him as the event was on us.

"He's at home now. He wouldn't stay in the clinic more than two days. Probably because they banned any liquor. Since then he has been recuperating at his house. Sae is bustling around him like a mother hen. He keeps on telling her to leave him alone but he knows how much he needs her, so it is just a bit of noise on his part. He is definitely getting better. Should be mostly back to normal soon, although the whole incident has given him a scare. He hasn't been able to go for supplies…" I deliberately leave the question about why we didn't tell him sooner. There is no use getting into that.

"Well, it is a relief that he is recovering. We need to visit him."

"It is too late now; we can go over after breakfast," I say and Peeta nods in agreement.

The children take the plates to the kitchen and then Stone comes running back to the table shouting, "Presents! Where are the presents?"

Peeta tells Jewel where they are and she manages to reach the cupboard before Stone. They bring three packages back to the table and Stone rips the wrapping off his, a small remote-controlled hovercraft. He is immediately jumping off his chair to try it out. Jewel takes more care and finds an electronic book with all the latest fashion news from Capitol and the other Districts, especially 8, which they now call Atlantis. "The license runs for 12 months," says Peeta, and Jewel squeaks an excited thank you before hugging her father around his neck.

"Go to the lounge room, kids." Says Peeta, and they wrestle through the door with their presents. I want to tell them not to run in the house, but I leave it.

Peeta takes the last package and hands it to me. "I found this for you, in a proper book store."

"Thank you," I say, unwrapping the heavy parcel slowly.

It is a real book, beautifully bound in pressed leather, on all the trees of Panem. The cover is of a forest, large oak trees soaring amidst intricate undergrowth. I page through the exquisitely crafted book. It is not handmade like our family book but the attention to detail, the pictures, the information, entrances me.

Peeta makes hot chocolate and coffee whilst I page through the book, reading small excerpts. Then he sits and watches me such that I get a little self-conscious.

"Please stop," I ask but he smiles and continues watching. He looks tired but at peace. The grey at his temples has only appeared in the last year. I wonder what he would look like if he had not joined the Senate. Younger, less tired? But then his eyes flick attentively and I realise he does need more than just a quiet rural life.

After half an hour of sitting quietly with me as I page through the tome, he says "Come on, time for sleeping." I notice that the noise from the lounge is gone. Peeta walks through and picks up a sleeping Stone, carries him up the stairs. Stone is too heavy for me nowadays; I would have had to wake him up. He comes back for Jewel as I tidy up.

With the children asleep, we climb into our bed and I rest my head on Peeta's chest, my arm wrapped loosely around him. For the first time in months I fall asleep in minutes rather than hours.


	2. Chapter 2

The Call

We are about to eat breakfast when the vidphone starts to ring. Peeta gets up and walks to the study to answer it. I tell the children to start while I put Peeta's food in the warmer. These calls can take hours sometimes.

After ten minutes, Peeta is back so I get his breakfast for him. He eats quietly, listening to the children planning the day's chaos. It is good he arrived back over a school break. I would have struggled to get the children to school this morning.

"We need to see Haymitch," says Peeta. "Jewel, Stone, why don't you go over there and warn him I'm back and coming to visit."

I add "Don't wrestle with him, Granny Sae will beat you with her broom," but they are not listening or at least pretend not to be.

The children take their empty breakfast bowls to the kitchen and then run to put on their layers before heading over to Haymitch. They are probably thinking of a sweet end to breakfast, or considering how late breakfast was, a sweet start to lunch.

When they are gone, I turn to Peeta. Something in his eyes tells me the call was very important. What could be that big? Is he going away again? He must understand I find it difficult being alone without him to help. Is there trouble? Perhaps related to his District 8 visit. Despite what he told the children, that he was staying for a while?

I wait for him to speak and he takes his time to choose his words.

"Katniss, they have called for an emergency sitting of the Senate. A full sitting..."

"But you just got back!" I cannot believe it. He has been gone eight weeks and is leaving again so soon! "When do you have to go?" What am I going to do? It is harder every time he leaves.

"A hovercraft will arrive this evening, the meeting is tomorrow. We will fly overnight to Colora District." The old Capitol. It still has the largest and most sophisticated government buildings, and the wealthiest people. It must be difficult for Peeta, being in the Capitol. Although I know it is painful for him, my own situation overwhelms my thoughts.

"You just got back! The children need you here; they adore you and miss you. The winter is hard, I can't look after them and Haymitch and Sae on my own."

"This is important. It is the first emergency Senate meeting in four years and …"

"Stop!" I interrupt him. I think I am perspiring. Is there panic in my eyes? Please let Peeta not recognise my turmoil. I try calming myself by taking slower, deeper breaths.

"I can't do this alone at home. The children… the children only listen to you." I am imagining getting through the rest of winter without him and I am not sure I can get through two months of children cooped up. "You need to stay at home more, the children need you."

"Kat, I called your mother and asked her to come and assist whilst we are gone. She won't arrive before we leave though, Jessa and Sae will have to help."

I am about to interrupt but then what he says sinks in. My mother? She and I still do not talk much. She probably talks to Peeta more than me. Why would he call her? He knows what our relationship is like. "Why? You know that … After we leave? What do you mean, we?"

He reaches to take my hand. "Kat … you need to come with me."

What? What for? Leave 12? Leave the children? I am without words. There is a sudden numbness within me. Why are you doing this to me? After a few seconds, I manage one word. "Why?"

Peeta looks directly in my eyes; he is trying to slow things down. Trying to calm me down, trying to stop what seems like irrational panic on my part. "Katniss, the Senate has asked for you to attend. They did not tell me why, but there is something big going on. I asked but they wouldn't tell me over the vidphone. I really do not know why they called for both of us. They insisted you come."

He pauses, stands and steps around the table to sit on the corner next to my plate. He gently takes both my hands. "I called your mother to come here and look after the children because we both need to attend. Yes, I requested they allow you to be absent. The session is not concerned with any Hunger Games. That was my primary concern. There is no rebellion. That was my second."

I nod in relief, as they were my thoughts too.

He continues "The emergency meeting is for all Senators, all heads of department, you. It is unprecedented."

I sit and let his words sink in. So many thoughts going through my head. I have stayed in 12 since we came back after the rebellion. Will my mother be able to look after Jewel and Stone? Heaven knows she froze when my father died. I had to look after Prim and her. Although she changed, started running the hospitals. Why am I so scared to leave? Am I becoming my mother of old? There is a jumble of thoughts and it must show on my face because Peeta kneels on the wooden floor next to my chair and looks up into my eyes, worry on his.

I shake myself out of my haze and stand up slowly as Peeta rises next to me, struggling a little with his leg. It still gives him trouble even though the Senate had it upgraded to the latest technology.

"What are we going to tell the children? They have never been alone without us."

"Your mother will be here, she isn't as bad as you think, and the kids love her. She has changed. There is also Haymitch, Sae and Jessa. You know Haymitch will drink less if he has responsibility, like when he was coaching us. It will be alright. Children need some time away from their parents too. It will give you a break too. It is only a day or two. It is a good thing."

I nod, still a little shocked and unsettled, but I trust Peeta. He will make sure everything is good.

"We had better go join the children at Haymitch's place. We need to tell him as well."

Peeta helps me put on my jacket and then puts on his own. We don't worry about scarves and gloves. We quickly walk along to Haymitch's house and let ourselves in. The sounds from inside tells us Haymitch has told the children a joke, they giggle, repeat the punchline and start the giggling again. We strip off our coats and then walk into the bright room where they are sitting on couches. Peeta has his hand in the small of my back and holds his step enough for me to go through the door first. The children are sitting on the couch next to Haymitch. His crutch leans against the coffee table, showing he is not fully recovered.

"Sweetheart", he says with a smile and struggles to stand up. He limps over and gives me a hug, spots Peeta behind me and leans forward to shake his hand whilst still holding me.

"Back in time to clear the snow, perfect timing as always," he says with a laugh and a wink. He knows that with his artificial leg Peeta finds it difficult shovelling snow.

Haymitch is looking worn. Not the worn expected with his 65 years, it is a weathering of both body and soul beyond his years. It is the trauma of the past, the excessive drinking to cope with the nightmares, the sense of helplessness one feels when you are just a pawn in a game. But for all the escaping into the bottle he still shows amazing powers of the mind. That being said, he is still looking better that he did two weeks ago. It is not only the recovery from his injuries but also due to the enforced abstention.

"It's good to be back," says Peeta, then adds quietly, "even if only for two days." Haymitch looks from Peeta to me but his only response is to offer us coffee. Sae hobbles into the room with coffee and hot chocolate before we can even respond to Haymitch's hospitality.

"Kids, why don't you go watch something on the vid, I need to talk to your parents," suggests Haymitch. The two of them jump up and dash into the lounge room. They don't get much vid time at our house so this is a rare treat.

Peeta helps Haymitch back to the couch and we all sit down around the table. I tell Sae to sit with us. As she starts to move the cups across to each of us, the cups rattling on the saucers as her shaking hand pushes them, Peeta tells Haymitch about the emergency session and about me going too. Haymitch listens intently. His look of worry changes subtly from his initial thought that I would be alone again to worry that I am leaving 12.

"So that is all we know. It's confidential, no-one is to be told of the session."

Haymitch looks at me and sees the conflict in my eyes. He has always read me well, has become like a father, always protecting our family in his own way. He stares for a while at me, and then says "You must go. It is time to get out of here for a while. We can look after the children." He gestures toward Granny Sae. "There are the three of us, if it was just me I'd be worried", he says with a smirk on his face, "but you know with Jessa and Sae all will be OK. It is only, what, a few days at most? And don't try to make any excuses; it's time you let go a little."

Peeta chips in, "I have arranged for her mother to come and stay for a week," then suddenly turns his head to the kitchen. "Are you baking something Granny?" Sae bustles up out of the chair and starts toward the kitchen. She admonishes herself about about her memory as she disappears into the kitchen. Peeta follows her, offering his help.

Now we are alone I open up to Haymitch. "I have been telling myself I need help, need a break from the children for so long, now that it will I am not sure I want it, perhaps because it is being forced on me. "

He reaches out and takes my hands softly in his. "Katniss, you have been hiding here too long. You are making excuses, hiding from responsibility. At some stage…"

"I am not hiding from responsibility. I look after everything here whilst Peeta is away."

He opens his hands and lifts them, palms pointed toward me, as if in self-defence. "We all know that Katniss, but you are hiding from the world. You haven't been to visit your mother, you never looked up Gale, or Paylor, or anyone else. They come to 12. Why don't you go to them?"

He says it all so gently, with such care, that I am at a loss. I want to fight this tension I feel but he has totally disarmed me. What can I say? We both know he is right.

But I am scared. Tears start to form in my eyes and I want to wilt but the children are in the next room and know I must be brave. Peeta has been to the Capitol. After all he went through, surely if he can go back so can I.

Peeta and Sae come back into the room with some biscuits, a little late for having with the drinks but we accept anyway. And they are delicious, full of butter and citrus, so it is a good choice to accept.

"OK, so it is decided," says Haymitch. "The children can stay at your house, Jessa can move in for a few days, I am sure they would much rather have her around than two old people like Sae and me."

I'm a little numb, I still haven't agreed to the trip although everyone seems to think I am going. Haymitch is speaking to Peeta about events elsewhere in Panem and Sae goes to the kitchen. I sit watching the children. Stone is rolling on the floor and Jewel is focused on the vid they are watching. Every now and then he rolls into her but she just tickles him a bit so that he rolls away giggling again. She is so much more patient with him than I am. I feel a little guilty, a little inadequate.

When Jessa arrives back from the shops the adults sit to discuss our trip. Jessa is very happy to assist, she starts planning how to move her other responsibilities. Within a few minutes they have arranged everything without a word from me.

Peeta calls the children over. They come and sit on our laps, Jewel on mine and Stone on Peeta's. Peeta starts by telling them Jessa will be staying at our house for a few days whilst we go to the Capitol. Children being children they are very excited by the change. They start telling Jessa what they can do together. It is all very exciting, a complete change to the routine they currently have. I sit, surprised a little. Perhaps they need this too, a break from their parents, no, from me. Maybe Haymitch and Peeta are right.

"Not too much vid-watching whilst we are away," I say to Jessa and the children, but I know that won't happen. They all laugh and then Stone wants to build snow monsters so Jessa agrees to go outside with them. They dash off to get their outdoor clothes on.

As they leave the house I realise they don't have gloves, scarves or hats on and shout for them to come back but the door slams shut and the house is suddenly quiet.

"Well, they took that well," laughs Haymitch. "I bet you two were worried they couldn't live without you."

Peeta smiles, "I guess we aren't the centre of their universe like we hope."

Sae brings a second pot of coffee and a welcome cup of hot chocolate for me and we sit and talk about Haymitch's accident, the cold winter, settlers, Panem. The conversation avoids the trip completely, the reasons for it, the impact on me. And it is all I can think of. My mind is in turmoil. Can I bear the Capitol? It is where Prim died, where they hijacked Peeta, where we lost friends, where I killed President Coin. But I know I need to go. The Senate and the government have left me in peace and up until a year ago they supported our family with everything we needed. They have never asked for anything in return. I guess I thought that the sacrifices we made for the rebellion, the way Peeta and I were used by both sides was justification enough.

After two hours I call time on the reunion. Peeta and I don our outer clothes, gather up the children's discarded accessories, and say our goodbyes. We round up the children as we head home, interrupting the final bits of a snow monster being built. The children protest but Jessa is starting to freeze and is thankful for the end of the activity. She heads back to Haymitch's house to fetch some of her things. We hustle the children into our cool house where we noisily unwrap. The children help Peeta build a fire whilst I prepare dinner. This will be the last dinner I make for them for a few days.

It is only a few days, so why am I so scared?


	3. Chapter 3

The Capitol

It is dark when I wake, darker than in the old mines of our District. The absolute silence gives me no clue where I am. I am on a bed. The pillow pressing against my left ear is larger than my own and the starched sheets against my skin are crisper than the ones at home. Like the sheets we had in the Tribute Centre at the Capitol. The Capitol! We are flying to the Capitol. For the Senate meeting so I must be with Peeta. I roll over but feel Peeta is no longer in the bed next to me.

The only type of hovercraft I went on during the rebellion were military hovercraft, nowhere near the luxury of this passenger craft. Peeta usually travels by train but occasionally by hovercraft. He mentioned how pleasant it was to fly overnight and now I understand.

A large hovercraft fetched us late night, after the children had gone to sleep, both in our main bed. It was hard to leave them like that, knowing they would wake without us there. At least they would have each other, with Jessa in Jewel's room. The attendant advised it would be about seven hours to the Capitol. We were both tired after a long and stressful day so we managed to sleep despite the situation.

The silence is deep. It is strange to imagine a hovercraft can be this quiet. I assume we have landed already since I cannot hear the hum of flight. At home, there are always the sounds of nature around us. I wake to the sound of birds during the warmer seasons, to winds and rain in the winter, and always children, laughing and wrestling, or whispering at my bedroom door, wondering if they will be in trouble if they wake mommy.

A faint light leaking under a door, enough to be able to walk over to it and find the light switch. The room is small, with a large bed taking up most of the floor space. Two ornately carved wooden chairs, upholstered in a dark blue and gold leaf pattern, stand either side of a matching round wooden table. Light hues of blue, cream and grey on the walls and surfaces brighten the space. There are three doors, one for a cupboard where our clothes are stored, one for the shower cubicle and one leading to the main cabin of the hovercraft.

I'm not sure what the time is but I shower, dress and then move into the main cabin. Peeta is sitting there with a cup of coffee, reading some documents. He looks up when I enter and rises to draw a chair out for me.

"You look very nice," he looks me up and down appreciatively.

"Thank you," I say, blushing. I have dressed in a sleeveless grey shirt with black pants. A matching jacket waits in the room for when we leave. Even at 44 I have kept fit with all the hunting and running around I do with the children. My arms are toned, my waist and hips slim. I have been lucky to live a healthy lifestyle, unlike most people in the Capitol who definitely do not exercise enough.

"Chocolate?"

"Yes please. What's the time?"

"It's early morning, we landed about three hours ago. You were so deeply asleep I left you. The crew have left for their homes, except for one attendant." So that explains the silence, it did seem unnatural but now it makes sense. He finishes the chocolate, brings it to me, then sits, and puts all his documents in a folder.

"We are going to breakfast with Manda Wakeford."

"Oh," is all I can manage, not being overly enthused to see her.

Manda Wakeford is the other District 12 Senator. She was not born in District 12, she came from District 13 when immigration was offered, and has made herself an integral part of 12, befriending everyone and helping people with many issues. It wasn't long before she became a councillor and then a Senator.

"I haven't seen her for over a year," I hastily add when Peeta's right eyebrow rises and his head turns toward me.

"She may be able to give us more information about the meeting," he offers.

"I'm just worried why I have to be here. It scares me. This whole trip scares me."

"Don't worry, we are together, we always look after each other." Peeta walks over to me and leans over to kiss me on the forehead before telling me he is going to wash.

I sit and watch the vid-news playing on the far wall. It is all so foreign to me. I have stayed in District 12 for so long I do not know what is happening anywhere else. If it wasn't for Peeta giving me updates of his role as a Senator I don't think I'd know anything about the other Districts.

Peeta returns just before the attendant, who is carrying a tray of breakfast that we are not going to need. Peeta thanks her and then lets her know we will be leaving shortly. She opens the block-out shutters of the windows and an amazing vista is exposed. On the left side of the craft is a full view, across the lake, of the Capitol. The sun is up, it must be about 8AM, and its pale winter light and the cold mountain air combine to make it look like an airbrushed photograph. The windows of the tall towers vary between blue and dark blue as they reflect the sky, mountains and lake. There is no wind; the lake is so still that there is a perfect reflection of the city in it. If I was upside down I doubt I could tell the real buildings from the reflection. It at once brings feelings of awe and horror. I know that Snow's regime is over but the horrors linger in my mind.

I look over at Peeta, wondering what he is thinking. "It gets easier each time you come," he says, "especially on a day like today when the view is so serene." He stands as still as the lake, staring at the city. I wonder how long it will be before it is just 'easy' for him.

A car arrives at the landing pad so I go to pack our bags only to find they have already been packed and taken to our next vehicle. We exit the hovercraft down a flight of metal stairs to find a chauffeur standing next to the open rear door. We climb into the overly spacious cabin and sit next to each other, facing forward. I am not sure how the people know that we are coming but as we drive out of the hovercraft port and turn onto the road toward our destination in the city there are thousands of people lining the streets. So much for a secret meeting!

The fashions of the Capitol are little changed so far as the extravagance goes. It surprises me, I thought that the rebellion would have changed the people in the Capitol. The garish colours, the conflicting styles, the clothing that does not enhance the human figure but rather breaks the curves and lines, they are all evident. It is clear that the Capitol still has a massive amount of wealth. In the Districts we are slowly changing the standards of living but people still have very little, they still eke out a living. Sure, it is an improvement, but seeing the Capitol makes it very evident that there is a massive gap between the Districts and the Capitol.

Through the windows I hear people chanting my name. Kat-niss, Kat-niss, Kat-niss. It is overwhelming. Peeta reaches out and holds my hand. He of all people understands how hard this is. And suddenly I have new appreciation for what he must have been through all the times he has come here to the Senate. Did he get the same chants and adulation when he first came? Does he still get it?

The car at times has to slow down as people step in the road but the driver, invisible due to the solid panel between the compartments, manages to keep it moving. We finally arrive a large tall building shaped like a pyramid. Half of the building stands on a triangular piece of land that juts out into the lake. There is a security wall inside a fence to keep the populace out.

"The Senate," says Peeta. "It houses the Senators and other dignitaries that visit. The Senate chambers are here as well. We have a full array of shops so that we do not have to go into town at all."

The car passes through the gates and pulls up at a large entrance. Manda Wakeford is waiting to welcome us. She is dressed conservatively, in a green outfit – tight pants that look like riding pants, Her suede jacket ends at her waist in front but flows halfway down her calves at the back where it meets boots to protect against the cold. She is a beautiful woman, short of stature but with blond hair and hazel eyes. The flecks of gold in her eyes catch the light as she looks from Peeta to me and back.

"Welcome to the Capitol Katniss," she says, and leans in to give me a hug. I hug Manda back, showing District 12 solidarity. I am not close to her but there is a large crowd that is still watching from outside the fence calling out my name, so I return the hug. I wave at the crowds, a little unsure what the protocol is but a large cheer goes up and so at least the crowds are happy. I try to forget the Mockingjay moniker but obviously it still carries weight in the Capitol. The people here know how to survive. Cheer for the heroes of the rebellion, call them your own. Tell everyone you supported them all along. Maintain the lifestyle, the wealth.

Manda turns and hugs Peeta as well, and as I watch I think she hugs him a little too long and close and gives him a kiss on his cheek. He hugs her back and looks directly at me as he does so. He looks at me with a blush, obviously uncomfortable that she is hugging him, like I was. Except for him they are colleagues and it must be more difficult since they have a professional relationship.

The Senate building was built after the rebellion as a monument of the new Panem. The triangle of land on which it stands signifies the three pillars on which the nation is built anew: Equality, Opportunity, Growth. One of Manda's attendants leads us into a vast entrance hall on the one corner of the pyramid. The ceiling must be five times higher than the roof of our house. The grandeur and sheer size is breath-taking. The hall is a smaller pyramid within the large one, two sides are glass, the other two sides are adorned with the flags of the fourteen districts, from One on the left up to Seven and then back down to the Capitol, now District 14 and called Colora. The entrance hall must take up a quarter of the floor space of the building. There are elevator doors at the back of the hall and we enter one.

We rise to the top floor of the building where a restaurant has a panoramic view of the whole city. The restaurant tops the building, it is the pyramidion. All around is sky, visible through the glass that rises to a point. The only solid structure is the central pillar that supports the glass and serves as the only entrance point.

The restaurant is completely new to me. During the Hunger Games we ate in our suite or canteen during practise sessions. In District 13 we ate in the Canteen where you had to fetch your own food. So a place where you sit down, select food from a menu and wait for attendants to serve us. Like the Avoxes but not in private. Is this Peeta's life when he is here? I look at the beauty, the ornate chairs and tables, the art on the walls. I have seen the wealth of the Capitol before but, like the people on the streets, this place shows me that the lifestyle here has not changed very much.

"So, Katniss, what do you think of the Capitol so far?" Manda is smiling, a little condescendingly. Gold flakes embedded in the skin around her eyes enhance the natural colour of her eyes. Do all Senators catch the Capitol disease? They all come from the Districts; do they recognise the contrast when they return? The extravagance is overwhelming, I never imagined it would be like this but perhaps I have been naïve, hiding away in District 12. I take a second to respond.

"A little overwhelming, I didn't think the Capitol would still be so… so… I don't know …"

"…So advanced?" says Peeta, trying to finish my sentence.

"Yes … so advanced." I leave it but I was thinking a lot of things less complimentary. Peeta hasn't mentioned this part of his life here. "What is on the agenda today?" I ask, changing the subject.

Manda answers, "First breakfast and then the Senate session starts at 11AM. We expect the Senators who are out of the Capitol to all be back within the next hour. The Speaker is adamant that there will be no further delays. The session will run for the rest of the day, after which they have arranged a banquet in your honour. The who's who will be there!" She becomes very excited by the idea.

"I didn't like the last who's who event Peeta and I attended." I don't bother hiding my distaste.

"Katniss," Peeta disapproves of my tone but I don't care.

"We need to show everyone that Appalachia is not a backwater," says Manda, "and when our prize citizen is at the Capitol we need to present a good image."

"I thought we were past having prize citizens."

"But you were the leader of the rebellion, Katniss, surely you see the difference."

I know I won't win this argument and Peeta is staring at me, his eyes pleading for me to cooperate, so I desist.

"I don't have appropriate clothes," I say, looking for excuses, but I know the answer even before Manda says it.

"Don't worry, we have that arranged."

Breakfast arrives, exquisitely set on plates with gold trim. Even the omelette I have ordered is carefully crafted. We eat in silence, I think my attitude has deflated Manda's enthusiasm and Peeta seems almost embarrassed by everything around us. He must realise how it looks to me.

The meal is thankfully over quickly and I ask Peeta if we can rest before the Senate sessions. The Capitol has overwhelmed me and I need to recover my senses. We descend a few levels to his quarters. They are similar to what we had when we were tributes. Peeta has a whole apartment to himself, a luxurious suite of rooms. He nervously shows me around and then I sit on a couch and stare out at the lake.

Peeta sits with me expectantly but I have nothing to say. There are so many thoughts racing through my head. Just being out of 12 has unsettled me, seeing the Capitol has unnerved me, seeing the opulent lifestyle and the extravagance of the people has disturbed me. I stare out the window watching the water ripple as the wind picks up. A few leisure boats are moving around the lake and I watch as the motorised boats speed up and down whilst the sail-boats flounder without sufficient wind.

"Kat," Peeta says it so gently it is almost like a caress. I hold his eyes with my gaze. He has changed in the last year. I didn't recognise it before, back in 12, but he is more confident. "Kat, I know this is not what you expected, I know it is hard for you coming here. Please let's just get through this. You know how to make it work. It won't be long. Tomorrow we can go home, go for walks with Jewel and Stone, rest by the fireplace when it is colder. You can go hunting and I'll look after the kids. For now though, we need to get through the next day, that's all. Please, for me."

I nod. "I won't embarrass you. Don't worry."

"I don't think you'll embarrass me; that is not it."

"Then what is?"

"This is important. Obviously there is something big going on, otherwise they would not have asked you to come. Do the right thing, be positive, get it over with, go home. It isn't hard. We've done more in the past."

He is right, so I nod again. "OK, I'll cooperate. Then I'm going home." And that gets me thinking about the pressure at home. Do I want to go home? I don't know. I don't know what I want or where I want to be. I just don't know. One thought solidifies and I blurt out, "I want you to come home too."

"OK. I'll come home. I was coming home for recess anyway."

We sit in silence again. The news from back home seems so unimportant. This is the Capitol. Compared to this I live in a backwater. Peeta is living this spectacular life and I don't know what to say to him. He is a stranger to me.

A tone breaks the silence and Peeta reaches to answer the intercom that is on the table next to him. After listening and giving an affirmation he says thank you and hangs up.

"They've asked if I can sign some reports from the visit to Atlantis."  
" Sure," I wave for him to go.

He walks out the room and pauses, an expression on his face that may be concern for me, or guilt, or a look that there are things unsaid, but I stare back blankly, so he turns and leaves the room without another word.


	4. Chapter 4

The Senate

I wait quietly in the room, watching the water and the boats. Across the lake is the hoverport. Craft lift off and touch down every few minutes. Life goes on in front of me, separated from me by the glass and my attitude, until an attendant fetches me for the Senate session. There is a constriction around my throat and a slight flush expands from the base of my skull around to my temples.

I am led to the entrance of the apartment where Peeta joins me. He has changed into a formal grey suit with a white shirt and a blue cravat. He looks very sophisticated. Another reminder of how rural I am. We walk silently together to the elevator and ride with two attendants to a lower floor. As we exit the elevator via a small foyer Peeta takes my hand. The attendants step to the sides of double doors and usher us through to a large circular auditorium.

We move from the quiet of the foyer into a hubbub of noise in the auditorium. It must be capable of seating over one hundred people. The rows of chairs descend to a central circular podium with four large screens suspended above it.

Peeta squeezes my hand and gestures with his eyes and head to start descending. Another attendant, dressed in black, ushers us toward seats in the first row. We take our seats next to Manda Wakeford. I hear the speaker knocking her gavel against the podium. Everyone who hasn't been seated quickly find their allocated positions.

As the noise dies the Speaker speaks clearly into her headset. "Ladies, gentlemen, I would like to call this meeting to order." A pause and then in the sudden silence she continues, "Welcome all to this emergency session of the Panem Senate. Please note that all people in the room who are not Senators or special guests invited to attend this session must now leave." There is an immediate murmuring from all directions. "The exception…" then a little louder "…the exception is the transcriber of the Senate, who is of sufficient clearance level."

It takes about two minutes for all the attendants to be given nods by their employers and they retreat up the stairs. Guards appear unexpectedly to close each set of doors as the attendants exit. When they are all gone the Speaker continues "Thank you all for your cooperation, the closed doors may not sit well with you all but it is, I assure you, quite necessary."

"The Senate would like to welcome the directors for each branch of government, especially communications and security. We also have a number of scholars in the room, we will need their input during the debate. Senator Wakeford, District 12…"

Manda Wakeford leans forward and pushes a button on a microphone in front of her. "We would also like to say welcome to a special citizen of Appalachia. Please welcome Katniss Mellark, wife of Senator Peeta Mellark." People stand and start applauding. So many people in one place, all applauding me. I don't think I have seen a hundred people in total in the last year. This is overwhelming. I feel tears in my eyes and hope nobody sees it, but I know they expect a response so I stand and wave in all directions including behind me. Peeta looks up at me with a large smile on his face. After a few seconds I sit down and absorb the sound, until the Speaker again uses her gavel to bring the noise levels down.

"The list of people here is quite specific and has not been made lightly. All Senators, all department heads, are required for the decisions that need to be made today. The special guests are included as advisors, due to their particular areas of expertise."

There is a murmur around the room.

"And you will shortly understand the inclusion of Mrs Mellark." It takes me five seconds to realise 'Mrs Mellark' is me. It is strange hearing the title 'Mrs Mellark'. People back home call me Katniss, or Miss Everdeen. It has always been that way. Peeta and I married in a very small ceremony, just the two of us. No one ever called us Mr and Mrs Mellark. This is the Senate, however, and everything is formal.

"To start the agenda I call on Senator Jay Cord, Senator of Communications from Atlantis, and Director Colm Fortuna, Director for the Panem Communications Department." A smattering of unenthusiastic applause greets the two men as they descend to the central podium.

"There is usually more ceremony," whispers Peeta as he leans toward me.

The Senator addresses the crowd first, "Greetings all, this session has been called because, for the first time in any of our days, we have received a message from outside the borders of Panem!"

He pauses and there is absolute silence. Everyone is shocked. Outside Panem? I cannot quite understand what this announcement means. We have all heard of people in the wilds, have they sent a message? How?

Noise reverberates around the room as everyone is asking questions, making guesses. One or two voices rise above the hubbub but quickly recede back into the confusion. The gavel is pounding but I doubt anyone beyond the first row can hear it. Slowly voices add to the call for quiet until finally one or two voices are heard, then none.

"..thank you." The Senator looks around nodding. "I know this is a shock to all but the experts have been suggesting this will happen. This session has been called to debate the event and our response to it. We intend to debate through the day and tomorrow if necessary. Before we do so I think it is pertinent to play the message. Director Fortuna…"

The Director, who is a tall thin man with a bald head, wearing, of all things, spectacles, rotates to look around the entire auditorium. He greets us in a matching thin voice and explains that the vid clarity is not good, that the voice is not only distorted but also that the man talking has a strange accent, some of the words are difficult to makes out. He starts to talk about technicians but the Senator interrupts him and requests he play the vid. He pauses, and then waves his hand in no particular direction.

After a second the screens above us flicker and there is an image of a man in a dark room. A misshapen window behind him lets in some light and a candle on the table he sits behind seems to be contributing only to the haze and atmosphere. It is hard to tell his age, I guess about thirty but I cannot be sure. His straight black hair and pale skin contrast, as do his eyes. They are an hypnotising, electric blue and it seems, even from the vid, that he is looking into my soul.

"Greetings. I am Farrell Laughlin. I am the leader of the Free Ireland Front. We are hoping that this broadcast is picked up by the people of Panem." Although the screen is high the people around me are still within my peripheral vision. They are all absorbed by the scene. "Our country has been under the control of The Union for the better part of a century, they have taken our freedom, our land, and our rights." He coughs, a rattling cough that speaks of more than a winter cold. "We have seen what happened in Panem and wish for freedom like you … But we need help ... We do not have all the resources to fight The Union. Most importantly, our people have lost the will to fight. It has been so long. They are tired. They are hungry." He coughs again, this time his head drops as he controls it. The man looks tired, hungry, ill. It is easy to believe what he is saying, if he is the leader. "We call on the free people of Panem to help us. Please, we are desperate. But don't send weapons, electronics. The Union destroys them all. What we need first is a leader, someone to stir the people, inspire them to stand up to the tyranny on The Union. Please, we need the Mockingjay."

The vid ends and the Speaker hammers the gavel, pre-empting the certain cacophony of comment.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we need to debate and we need to take questions but we cannot all shout and try to be heard at the same time. The Senate attendants will assist in taking written questions…"

My focus on the proceedings drifts, I am shocked almost into catatonia. The words of Farrell Laughlin echo in my mind …. The Mockingjay …. The Mockingjay … the Mockingjay. I can feel Peeta's stare and his hand on my arm. I ignore him and everything else. I am numb. They cannot do this to me. I did my share. I suffered for their freedom, I lost my own. The years of torment. Like being in a prison. Don't they understand?

Peeta finally shakes my left arm enough to shock me into what I think is my first breath for a minute. My heart is the opposite, hammering all this time against my ribs faster than a hummingbird's wings. I look at him and his face shows there is something wild in mine.

"No." Under my breath.

"Katniss," he whispers.

"No." Louder this time.

His other hand reaches over to take my left hand whilst retaining his grip further up my arm.

"No." I look directly into his eyes and fell mine squint slightly. "No!"

"Its OK Katniss, no one is saying you must go."

"Good, 'cause I'm not going."

Behind Peeta no-one is paying attention to us. Questions are being asked and written. How come we never came into contact before? Can we help them? Do we know where Ireland is? Do we know where this specific man is? How did we receive the vid? Are we under threat? Why do they want the Mockingjay?

The scribes are capturing the questions furiously and when the questions start to come less rapidly the Speaker calls for quiet.

"I believe a number of the questions can be answered if we tell you how we received the message and how it comes to be here with us now.

The Director and Senator call for three scientists to join them on the podium. The three scientists seem a little overwhelmed by the forum and I understand how they feel. Perhaps their situation is different to mine, they live in a far more modern world than I do, but being thrust into the limelight is just as intimidating.

The story of the message is relayed to the audience. Air controllers managing the traffic in Otwa had a broadcast interrupt their frequencies. The vid ran seven times and they managed to record it. The eighth broadcast only ran about half way before suddenly ending. They notified the Council of Otwa and, understanding the importance, they reported it to the Senate. From there the appropriate scientists were engaged to decode the message and provide information around it. This all happened in the last five days.

"What do we know? Well, we know where Ireland is." The Senator holds up his hand, anticipating a reaction, but all the people have calmed now and are listening intently.

"Geographers here in the Capitol have records showing old maps of Panem and the world on which we live. These were hidden by the Capitol for many years in vaults. We discovered them recently during investigations in the archives below the older Capitol government buildings. Director Fortuna, please can you show us an image of the maps."

Two maps are shown next to each other. The map on the left is round and shows land and water, with Panem on the left of the orb. The second is the same except it is rectangular and I immediately see Panem, again in the left of the picture. Below and to the right there are other land masses as well as numerous islands.

"This here," pointing to an area on the map, "is Panem. It is a part of a continent approximately 3500 kilometres from West to East, on average. North of Panem are the wilds that have been discussed for settlement. Ireland is a set of islands near this smaller continent to the East." The picture is changed so that the part of the map he is pointing to gets bigger and the peripheral areas disappear. Soon we can see a larger picture from the Capitol to the archipelago called Ireland.

"The distance from to Ireland from Otwa, the closest District, is approximately 4 500 kilometres. So getting there is not an issue, our standard hovercraft have a range of around 6000 kilometres. Getting back is another issue though. We would need to take a larger quantity of fuel cells and that would decrease range. It is possible to get there though with some changes to the hovercraft propulsion systems. We have the technology to convert seawater into a liquid hydrocarbon fuel, we use the technology for the harvesters in Missippi, and we fit a couple of hovercraft with the technology. It allows a hovercraft to take on seawater during flight and convert it to fuel for their current engines."

"Who said we were going? That decision hasn't been made yet!" A rotund Senator in a purple robe is standing and waving his finger toward the podium.

"Thank you Senator Janos, please sit down. We are aware the Senate must make the decision, the team have been doing pre-emptive work to provide sufficient information for the Senate to make a decision."

"So we can explore that entire map you first showed?" Another unwritten question from behind me - a woman's voice.

"At the moment we really need to focus on the message we received," says Senator Cord, "All questions will be recorded and tabled into a prioritised list for the next session."

At that there is a murmur around the room.

The Speaker steps forward and addresses the room. "Colleagues, Citizens, we need to think carefully about this particular message in isolation to all other ideas that it may trigger. This person, this Farrell Laughlin, is asking us for assistance. They have their own version of President Snow. The question that needs to be answered first is whether or not we help them. I suggest we take a recess and reconvene after lunch. At that time we can enter a debate on this one question. Once that is decided then we then move on to other questions. Please note we cannot take this conversation outside this audience yet."

The gavel strikes once and everyone stands to move toward the exits.

We exit the auditorium and Peeta leads me to a refreshment station. Within minutes people are introducing themselves, Senator this from this District, Senator that from that District. I shake hands with people and thank them for their words when they say how great it is to meet me. I struggle to retain the names, the Districts. They are not important to me. Instead it is the fashions that impact me the most. The Senators may as well be Capitol natives. The styles, although subdued in the Senate from what I saw on the streets, are still extravagant and garish. Peeta in his suit is one of the exceptions to the styles I see. Colours, materials, accessories, are designed to shock, to entice a look. Women wear clothing that at once reveals and yet doesn't reveal areas of the body. I wonder what they wear when they are not at the Senate.

The crowd of sycophants finally thins out.

"What happens next?" I ask Peeta. The government process is confusing and I am glad it is Peeta doing this rather than me.

"There will be a debate now, at least the rest of the day, on whether we should assist or not. I doubt we will get a resolution today. Many of the newer Senators I know will categorically reject the idea. The older Senators will most likely support some sort of mission, from assessing the situation or actually sending a full complement of personnel. The more complex the team the longer it will take to decide. It could be days. Thinking of the whispers in the Senate, I think we will probably end up sending a small delegation."

"In that case why not just make the decision and stop wasting everyone's time?"

"Because decisions by committee have to follow a process, all the Districts must be in agreement, and there has to be compromise from all sides of the discussion. It is the way it is."

"Just remember, I am not going."

"OK, I'll make sure you are excluded. I promise."

He puts his hand on my shoulder but I am too out-of-place to be myself so I just stand eating little custard pastries that are sticky from the syrup and I keep on having to lick my fingers so I don't stick to everything I touch.

Now that the crowds have cleared other people come over to greet Peeta and ask him questions about various topics. As I stand and watch I notice a lot of the people are women. They invariably hug or kiss him, he is very popular. I can't be surprised. They always said he was attractive and as he gets older, with the tailored clothing, neat hair over bright eyes and a ready smile, he seems to generate more confidence. This is a side of Peeta I haven't seen for a long, long time. Gregarious, approachable, sophisticated; all characteristics befitting a Senator. He is a chameleon, changing his colours as he needs to. His ability to understand what people want and also what they need is amazing, his patience and tact are sublime.

I catch my reflection in a window and I look poor, unsophisticated, unfashionable, rural even. The women here are a world away from me. Every single one has a stylist, I am sure. Their outward appearance is specifically designed for the occasion, designed to highlight their best features. And I am sure most have had their weaker features 'adjusted'. I think back to the Hunger Games and the process I was taken through, hours and hours of work to make me good enough to present to the Capitol.

A chime breaks my reverie. Peeta says goodbye to the two women he is talking to and moves to guide me with his hand on the small of my back. We re-enter the auditorium and take our seats. When the doors are sealed the Speaker restarts proceedings.

The next four hours are tedious for me. Sitting in one place whilst an argument flows back and forth across the auditorium leaves me drained. Peeta has correctly predicted the process and it seems the result will be the outcome he predicted as well. It is so obvious, I wonder why all these Senators do not see it as well.

There is a steady flow in and out of a secure break area that the Speaker authorised after the first hour of debate. Peeta and I both take breaks although he takes less than me. During the breaks with Peeta there are always people to talk to but when I go on my own I am left to my own devices. I think after the initial meeting people realised I am not here by choice and have given me space. That possibly makes my mood even worse.

Toward the end of the day, when a decision seems close to being reached a Senator stands up and asks, "What about the request for the Mockingjay to go?"

I immediately look at Peeta with wide eyes. He quickly stands to address the audience. It seems everyone understands he will respond so there is no noise as he addresses the audience.

Peeta's voice and demeanour change, he exudes a calmness, a seniority, despite only being in the Senate for less than a year. "Senators, Directors, guests. Although the man has specifically requested the Mockingjay we feel that he does not know who or what he is asking for. The Mockingjay was a symbol of the rebellion. It was used to fight the tyranny of the Capitol. Although at the time I was hijacked I now understand the difference between the symbol and the person. Katniss, my wife, is not the Mockingjay, she is Katniss. Her motives when she was the Mockingjay were not necessarily freedom for all," there is a slight murmur, "it was freedom for the two of us and our families. It was escape from our enemies. This aligned with the rebellion and she realised she would have more success with allies than without. She does not want to go to Ireland, and I agree with her."

Peeta stops talking as the noise levels increase, then raises his hand to regain the audience's attention, before continuing.

"There are a number of reasons. Firstly, she is not a part of the Ireland in the vid, she has no passion for their cause and there is no personal cause either. Secondly, she has no training for a mission like this. Although no-one in Panem has any experience outside Panem there are people trained for diplomacy, military interventions and any other action that is approved by the Senate. Thirdly, and on a far more personal level, we have a family back in Appalachia. If Katniss goes to Ireland and I am here fulfilling my Senate duties, there will be no-one to care for our small children. These are the three primary reasons why we do not agree with her going. The Senate has debated well and there seems to be no reason to change the agreements we have achieved at this late stage. Thank you."

I am amazed at the depth to which Peeta has thought this through; that he has looked at it from so many angles. I would have just said 'No'. He really does belong here in the Senate.

As he sits down there is a response from the Speaker, but it is not directed at Peeta. "Thank you Senator Mellark. Your argument is eloquent but I want to hear from Mrs Mellark."

"It is Everdeen, Katniss Everdeen." I wish she would just leave me out of this.

Peeta looks up at me with a stone face, his head snapping around in surprise.

"Apologies Ms Everdeen. Will you respond?"

"I'm not going on the mission. I'm not the right person." I can't say anything beyond what Peeta did, and to be honest I could not be bothered.

There are calls of disappointment but the gavel sounds, the Speaker calls for order. "Thank you for your candour, if you are not willing to assist with the endeavour then you are free to leave the session. Please remember that what has been discussed is confidential until such time as the Senate makes a public announcement."

I get up to leave, turning to see what Peeta is doing. "I need to stay; the debate is far from over. I'll meet you in the apartment when we are done." He seems icy so I nod my reply and leave the room through the main doors and into the elevator where an attendant greets me with a polite "Ma'am" and selects a floor without asking me where I am going.

By the time we reach my floor the attendant that accompanied me early in the morning is waiting outside the elevator. She also greets me and shows me the way back to the apartment. "Should I draw a bath for you ma'am?"

"No, I will be fine alone, thank you."

"Yes Ma'am," she responds and exits the apartment.

Now that I am alone I get to consider the day and after reviewing all the debate I reinforce my decision that I am right to stay. Peeta also added points that further justify the decision. I take a shower to refresh myself and then walk around the apartment again, exploring the rooms, looking in the closets, looking out the window at the vista of the Capitol. The view of the Capitol brings back memories. Peeta has changed a lot if he can look at this every day. The closets are full of expensive men's clothes, nothing like the normal capitol fashions, but nothing like he would wear at home. A small compartment hides the clothes he wears at home. The apartment is large, three bedrooms, each with their own bathroom, each bathroom has a bath and shower, and two toilets, one with a water spray. A bidet, if I remember the term. The apartment is far bigger than our home in Victor's Village, let alone the house I grew up in.

When Peeta gets back I will tell him I want to go home. I am totally out of place here in the Capitol. The fake people, the brazen largess, are so foreign to me. I want to scream at everyone here, tell them they are no better than Snow and his underlings. I am stressed and tired because of this place. I lay down on the bed in the main room and fall asleep. A foreign sound bounces me out of my sleep - the sound of a woman.

"Hey Lover! Where are you?"

The clickety-clack footsteps come closer and the door opens. A petite woman, dressed in the smallest pink outfit I have ever seen, wobbles in on shoes that make her fifteen centimetres taller. Her hair is pink too; despite the unnatural colour of it she is stunningly beautiful. What is she doing in Peeta's apartment? How did she gain access?

"Oh!" she looks at me, sitting on the bed, with surprise. "I was looking for Peeta…"

"He… he is at the Senate," I reply, unsure of what to say.

"I thought he was alone… I am sorry… Maybe I will go… Sorry for interrupting."

How she pivots and disappears so quickly on such high shoes I do not know."

I am alone again, wondering what just happened.

Peeta is unsettled when he arrives back from the sessions. I want to ask about the woman but I decide to leave it until later.

"What happened after I left?"

"More debate, a lot about convincing you to change your mind. I told them I will not be a part of it."

"So a decision has not been reached then?"

"Not yet but I think we will have consensus early tomorrow." He takes off his jacket and hangs it over the back of the chair.

Peeta seems quite distant, there is definitely something eating him.

"What's wrong?"

He looks at me for an instant, seemingly unsure of what to say. "There is an event this evening; you have been invited as the guest of honour."

"An event? Like the last one we attended here?"

"No, not quite. Well, a bit."

"I don't see how they can want me as the guest of honour, when you weren't around no-one spoke to me at all."

"When I wasn't around you didn't speak to anyone either."

"I'm the stranger here, not them. What happened to welcoming someone? Are things so different here to 12?"

"It's Appalachia."

"Appalachia?"

"Katniss, we need to move on from the old conventions, the old ways. We can't keep saying District 12. It has a name. We need to use it, like the new generations do, like they do here in the Capitol."

I start to talk but stop. Am I that backward that even Peeta thinks it?

"Why do they still call it the Capitol? …. Am I that old? "

"Kat. No. I'm sorry Kat."

"It's OK. You're right. … What time is the event? I don't think I have anything appropriate to wear."

"That is not something to worry about. They have a whole rack full of clothes waiting for you."

I try to be cheerful, even though my sleep was interrupted. "Well, let's go see if there is anything that suits this Appalachia woman."


	5. Chapter 5

The Party

The crowd is much larger than I thought it would be. There are obviously people here that weren't at the Senate sessions. It is winter but at the gates we are asked to hand in our shawls and coats for storage in a building that looks the same as the surrounding buildings but is a temporary installation. The area is a vast open plaza amongst old style buildings that seem a world away from the modern glass and steel of The Capitol. Coloured light moves across the buildings, music seems to come from out of thin air. The air in the plaza is warm, tending to hot. Nothing like outside the area. I look around for the force field is but see nothing. The generators must be on the tops of the buildings.

Waiters lurk by the entrance, looking for victims to try the multi-coloured drinks they are carrying on trays. There are many willing victims. Some take a second drink before they have finished the first. Peeta takes two drinks for us, a purple drink that tastes of berry and lemon. It is surprisingly refreshing and with the warmth of the plaza, it is welcome.

Peeta is again dressed quite formally, in darker tones of grey with black trim. A long shirt covers the pants to below the knee. The shirt zips all the way to the neckline, with a cut that accentuates the V of his upper body. He is in remarkable shape for a man his age. Our age. The darker, sophisticated style stands out against the over-bright colours of the other men.

The attendants and Peeta helped me choose a white dress that hugs my figure, flaring out at the knees. Spiralling around the dress are strands of silver and gold that catch the light as I move, giving the dress a shimmer effect. Although it is tight, it is not constricting. It is the first dress I have worn for the longest time. I cannot remember wearing one since we were married. It was a fight to get me to wear the dress but now that we are at the party, I confess it was the right choice. I contrast the darker tones of Peeta's; we definitely are a striking couple. People keep looking at us and I wonder what they are thinking. There goes the famous Senator with his District wife? There go the last victors of the Hunger Games? There goes that crazy woman with her dashing husband?

Peeta puts his hand on my back and we move into the crowd, away from the entrance. I look around, trying to take everything in. The people, the food, the lighting; it is similar to the event we last attended here in the Capitol. Perhaps not as decadent, but certainly something not seen in District 12. People start walking up to us and introducing themselves, telling us how much they admire us. I smile and thank them, just like I did at the Senate. There is no way I am going to remember many of them. A few people stay longer, they are obviously colleagues and friends of Peeta. He introduces me to some of them.

One person in particular is very happy to see Peeta and comes jogging over and gives him a big bear hug. He is a very large, good-looking man with a personality just as big. His physique dwarfs everyone around him, he looks like he could crush rocks.

"Dav, this is my wife Katniss. Katniss, this is Dav Beader. He is a friend …" but before he can finish Dav interjects.

"Katniss, a pleasure to meet you, we have heard so much about you, and of course you are someone everybody knows. Peeta told me how beautiful you are, your pictures do not tell the full truth though."

The make-up the attendants lathered on me covered most of the burns but not all. It is impossible to cover all of it. So I appreciate the compliment and abashed, I mutter my thanks, but I know there is deceit in his words. For Peeta though, I will not say anything.

Manda Wakeford appears at that moment to save my blushes. "Dav, Dav, stop fawning, I thought I was your only infatuation."

"Manda, a man must experience some variety, it makes him appreciate what he has. Not so Peeta?"

"I'm not sure what you mean Dav, but you're talking about my wife…." Says Peeta, eyebrows raised.

"That doesn't stop one from admiring," says Dav with a laugh. "Anyway, we should let the lady decide. Katniss, dance with me."

Before I can say a word Dav takes my hand, smirks at Peeta and Manda and then leads me to the dance area. As he does so Manda pipes up, "Peeta, I think we will have to keep an eye on them, shall we join them?"

"Good idea," says Peeta and accompanies Manda behind us.

We join the rest of the people dancing and Dav surprises me when he turns out to be a good dancer, except for his propensity for lifting me off my feet every now and then. After the third time I convince him not to do it again with threats to leave him on the floor alone and hurting.

"When are you going to join us in the Capitol, Kat?"

"It's Katniss, and I am not sure I will, we have the children …"

"There are great schools here in the Capitol, Kat. The children would be better off here."

I don't have any argument and I am not going to tell him that I hate the Capitol. I agreed with Peeta to get through the night so I continue dancing. I'll be happiest we this night is over. Dav starts talking about people at the Capitol, people I have never heard of although from the wav Dav talks I should have. I politely nod my head and I keep looking for Peeta, hoping he'll rescue me.

My heart beats two erratic beats when I spot Manda and Peeta dancing together. They dance well together, like they have done so before. Whatever he is saying makes her laugh a lot. Too much. Which doesn't rest well with me. I try to push Dav toward them but the crowd keeps pushing us apart and I lose sight of them.

A couple next to us interrupt Dav talking and ask us to swap partners. Dav agrees loudly and literally hands me to the man, then sweeps the lady up off her feet. Unlike me she seems to love it, letting out a little scream of delight. The man introduces himself as Senator Bard from District 8. He quickly gets onto politics, asking if I can help convince Peeta to vote for the merger of Appalachia and Atlantis. As the two smallest Districts and as neighbours, it makes sense to merge. I mention that Peeta is his own man and he should approach Peeta directly.

There follows a blur of faces, fawning sycophants and manipulative opportunists all. Each person wants something but only some make offers in exchange. The offers vary from gifts to favours. The longer it goes on the more irritated I become. I keep looking for Peeta but the people around me make it impossible to see through to the crowds. I make my excuses and head for a quiet corner to find space and some fresh air. I am not claustrophobic but all the bodies are suffocating me.

When next I spot Peeta he is dancing with someone else, a woman with no hair and a leopard-print outfit that reveals a lot more skin than would be appropriate just about anywhere except here in the Capitol. She is dancing right up against Peeta and he seems to make no move to get away from her. He catches my eye, says something to leopard lady, and they stop dancing so he can make his way through the crowd to me. He interjects and Senator Bard steps away.

"Can we stop please? I just want to go back to the apartment." I am so out of place, I feel claustrophobic.

"Sure, hold my hand and follow me."

We keep a tight grip to stop getting separated and manage to fight our way through the surges to get to the exit, where we don our outer gear and make it to a chauffeured vehicle.

I am exhausted by the whole event and close my eyes, still hearing the overly loud music buzzing in my ears. Peeta holds my hand, but doesn't talk at all. He must be overwhelmed by the party as well. We very quickly get back to the Senate building and the apartment, where we shed the outer layers and then move to the lounge area.

"So now that is done we can go home."

"Not yet, the matters aren't finished yet."

"Well you can stay then, I'm going in the morning."

"Kat, we agreed we would see this through, it won't be much longer."

"you can see it through. The Senate was boring, the party was awful. I'm not going through any more of that. "

"It wasn't that bad."

"It was, it was that bad. It was worse than awful. And you left me on my own so you could dance with those other women!"

"What? You weren't alone, and It was Dav who asked you to dance…"

"And you very quickly danced off with Manda. That woman has eyes for you."

"No, she doesn't, and I danced with her to stay near you."

"Well you didn't seem to try very hard. And those two women were all over you!"

"That is what they are like in the Capitol, but I'm not like that, you know that! Why would you raise other people? What is this about?"

"I see the way the women hang around you, the hugging and kissing. The way they dance too close."

He sits silently for a few seconds. "Katniss, I am not sure what is going on, but there is nothing going on, whatever you imagine is …"

"Whatever I imagine? All I see is you dancing with Manda like you do it every night, dancing too close with a leopard lady…"

"Her name is Jule…"

"I don't care what her name is! You come home, you tell us about your job but you never mention anything about this lifestyle you have. I don't know what I pictured but it wasn't this. It's like you are hiding it, and I was wondering why but now I know."

"That isn't fair Katniss, we have discussed you coming here with me…"

"And you knew I wouldn't come, you knew your life here was safe."

"My life? … My life? … How do you get to my life here? I haven't done anything, what is going on Katniss?"

"You are what is going on. You are living the high life here. The fancy clothes, the exotic parties, friends who obviously have no morals. It's like I don't know you anymore, like you are living a double life. Then your backwoods wife comes to town, no wonder I embarrass you."

"Yes, you embarrassed me today, but not at the party." I was expecting a response but not that one. I embarrassed him at the Senate? I stare at him, running the events at the Senate through my mind. Of course, because I won't join the mission!

"Just because I won't go to Ireland, that's no reason to be embarrassed."

"It isn't because you said you won't go, I support that completely…"

"Then what is it? The way I look compared to all the beautiful women here in the Capitol? My District manners? Are you so past us in 12, now that you are the Capitol's favourite again?"

"That is not fair, Kat…"

"You are right, it isn't fair. Isn't fair for us to hold you back. You obviously love this life."

"Kat, you and I agreed to this, you didn't want to do it so I did. We needed the income, I am only here because when you turned them down to become an Appalachia Senator I accepted instead. And we agreed to it! What was I supposed to do? Attend meetings in Appalachia? You know that is not how it works. And every time I come home I ask you to come back with me."

"How did I embarrass you?"

He looks at me, then closes his eyes and then slowly and quietly says, "When you are married you take the man's name. You are Katniss Mellark, you are no longer Katniss Everdeen. I never made a big deal of it back home, we lived a quiet life, knew everyone around us. Like they were family. The Mellark-Everdeen thing never came up. But here in the Capitol I am a Senator, when you said your name was Everdeen you belittled me, as if I was very unimportant in your life. Everything here is about image…"

"I don't see …" but Peeta raises his hand and stands up from his chair. "Katniss!" His voice is sharp and loud, he stops me before I can finish my thoughts. He walks to the window and stares out at the lights across the lake. Without turning to look at me he continues.

"I am a Senator! Everyone respects that except you! All you care about is your own stress. Do you really think it is easy for me being here all the time with these people? Do you think I don't get sweats at night? Nightmares? I do! I have very bad days sometimes. Do you ever ask me how I'm doing? All you see is me living the high life! I don't! I live a quiet life here, I don't do the parties. The clothes are part of the job. I don't wear them back in Appalachia because they are not me. Home is me. This" he turns and gestures to the clothes, "is a show, you should know that better than just about anyone." He holds my gaze for a few seconds. "Kat, we have to move on. We have a family, we need an income to survive, we need to move into the future. I am doing my part. Why can't you?"

I am shocked, I never thought Peeta would see me like that, like I am backward. He doesn't seem to want to understand or support my point of view. He doesn't understand how hard it has been, waiting for him to come home. Waiting for him to be in the same house, the same bed. To nurture the children who need him so much. The children! Unlike what Peeta seems to think it isn't just about what I want anymore. They also need him. He obviously won't come back to 12, but I cannot believe the children would be better off here in the Capitol. They would turn into the people at the party. I couldn't bear that.

I stand up, with a sudden idea in my head. "Ok, Peeta. If that is what you want then we can move forward into a new future. We can change how things are going. Tell the Senate I'll go on the mission. We can start immediately." I walk toward the hall, heading for the bedroom, then turn and with some ire in my voice I say "Make sure there is someone to look after the children whilst I am gone," before walking to the main bedroom, closing the door and sitting down against it just in case he tries to follow me.


	6. Chapter 6

Limbo

The journey back to District 12 is hard. After the argument with Peeta I packed and left first thing in the morning. Peeta had to stay to finish the Senate meeting before joining me back home. I am taken by a two-seater hovercraft with a young pilot who I ignore. I cannot bear to speak to anyone right now. He seems to understand because he is totally silent except for intermittent communication with flight control. I sleep most of the flight because I hardly slept last night. So much buzzing in my head. Peeta arranged a flight for me so there was a wake-up call early in the morning. The only thing I could say to Peeta as I left was "I'll wait for you at home."

It's just after lunch when the pilot sets us down outside Victor's Village and help me with my bag to the front door. At the door he sets down the bag.

"I've been ordered to wait to take you to Otwa to meet other travellers, Ma'am. I'll be barracked in the pilot's quarters in town, you can get me there when you need me. We should expect to leave tomorrow."

I am a little shocked, the plans have been made and communicated to this pilot already. That was fast. My lack of response is awkward so he asks, "Is everything OK, Ma'am? Anything I can do?"

"No, no. … No, everything's fine, you have been most helpful. I'll call you when we are ready tomorrow."

I watch him walk back to the hovercraft when suddenly the front door opens behind me. As I turn Stone grabs me round the waist. Jewel stands behind him. I lean down to give him a hug and a kiss on the top of his head before reaching over and doing the same to Jewel.

"Where's daddy? Is he coming home? … Is he staying in the Capitol again?" I can hear the disappointment in his voice.

"Don't worry, he'll be back soon."

"Why didn't you come back together? You left together…"

"Stone, we'll explain later. Daddy had to finish some business and I wanted to be home with the two of you."

"But when is daddy coming home? We haven't seen him for so long and last time he was here so little…"

"I know, Stone, but when dad gets home he's probably going to be home for a month. You'll have lots of time to do things together."

I walk inside. Jessa has been with the children and is tidying paints and sheets of paper. We make small-talk about events at home and when she asks how the Capitol was I answer with a single word: "Interesting." Then I thank her for helping out the last two days and ask her to come back tomorrow. When we are alone I look at my children and decide to go outside with them.

"Come on, let's go for a walk in the woods."

They cheer. I don't let them out that much during winter. The three of us get dressed warmly and spend the next few hours walking, throwing snowballs and sliding down the slopes. Knowing I will be gone for the next three weeks seems to lift a weight off my shoulders. I forget about cooking and dinner, homework and bathing and for a few hours we just have fun. I haven't done something like this for a few years.

I know I should go and visit Haymitch, as well as Sae, but I am just not in the mood for people. When we get to the point where our gloves are starting to let the cold moisture from the snow through and our ears and noses are red and stinging I call time and somehow manage to drag the two of them back to the house and into a hot bath whilst I light a fire and then have a hot soothing shower.

We have sandwiches for dinner, just the bakery's bread and cold leftover roast beef, with mayonnaise, accompanied by hot chocolate and coffee for Jewel. She has developed a taste for it just like Peeta. I let them sleep in my bed with me that night because we didn't build a fire until late and the house is quite cold.


	7. Chapter 7

Farewell

I wake between them. It is so warm in the bed I lie there and stay warm under the blankets for a while. It is still very dark. I have no motivation to get up and send the children to school, so I let them sleep. It is a good thing today is not a school day, I couldn't bring myself to get them ready and send them off. I am not sure when Peeta will be home but I want to be with the children until I leave.

Leaving. My mind is blank when I think the word, an expanse of white. I am not sure what to feel, to be happy that I'll be away, to be scared about the unknown, to be sad to leave everyone behind. But it is only three weeks.

Getting out of a bed when you are between two sleeping children is difficult but I make it without waking them, choosing to climb slowly over Stone rather than Jewel as she is the lighter sleeper. Their beautiful faces are so peaceful, possibly still tired from yesterday afternoon's activity.

I am not sure of the time but I cannot sit in the room so I wrap up and head down to set the kettle on. To my surprise the lights are on and it is warmer the closer I get. Someone is here. Sae, Jessa? They both have keys. No, not them. Peeta sits at the table, a mug of coffee in front of him. The fire has been relit. His back is slightly toward me and I have been quiet so he doesn't know I am at the door. His head rests in the palm of the right hand, his eyes closed. He looks tired and takes slow deep breaths. It seems if his hand wasn't supporting his head he would fall over on the table.

He reaches for the coffee cup with his left hand and opens his eyes. I move slightly at the door and he sees me. His head lifts and he looks directly at me, his mouth opening slightly as if to say something but he remains quiet. Looking at him I suddenly feel guilty for my behaviour in the Capitol. But I do not know what to say so I walk over to the kettle as his gaze follows me. As I switch it on I ask "How was the trip back, when did you get here?"

"… Hello Katniss." His words are like a lecture, telling me so many things through his tone. My back is to him but I know there is disappointment and sadness etched in his visage, and certainly some measure of accusation. I don't want to see it but I have to face him so I turn around.

"Peeta …"

"Katniss, don't say it. Please, let's just sit for a bit." I swear there are tears in his eyes but he doesn't cry.

The kettle was hot so making the hot chocolate is quick. I walk over and sit across the table from him. We sit in silence and drink warmth into our bodies. Peeta couldn't have been here more than half an hour. What time would he have left the Capitol?

Peeta breaks the silence, "I know you are scared, I understand that after years of staying in the quiet of this place you were overwhelmed by the Capitol. It was your first time back. I understand all of that. But your treatment of me has no excuse."

I nod and look down at the tabletop and my mug, unable to talk. I am scared I might say the wrong thing and make things between us worse. Having had time to think yesterday, I know I wasn't acting very well.

"The Senate have decided the mission to Ireland will go ahead. They will send two Senators and you, as well as a support crew. The Senate were grateful for your volunteering. They agreed to send a hovercraft, a passenger craft. After the meeting was finished, I convinced Senator Pendal to send a military one, for your protection. From what I saw in the vid the place looks quite undeveloped."

"OK." Then "what about the children?" I feel guilty I left the arrangements to him.

"I will be here. I am not going to the Capitol. I called your mother; she arrives by train this afternoon. I think it is best they have more support than just me."

"Thank you. They will be very excited to have you both here. Especially you, Stone has been asking for you constantly. What about your duties at the Senate?"

"I have been given special leave for the three weeks you will be gone."

There is a period of silence. I cannot work out how to say sorry, or to be more cheerful. That would seem trite anyway.

"When you get back we can talk about what happened here. It is not a good thing to go without clearing the issue but we have little time before they fetch you."

"Yes. Yes, you are right." He makes it easier to say things, he is helping me get out of the awkward situation by acknowledging the issue but also deferring it.

"What is the time?"

He looks at his timepiece "its eight … Are the children still sleeping?"

"If they are we should wake them. We need to tell them what is going on."

"And then tell Haymitch too."

"Yes. He and Sae and Jessa can help with the children when I am away."

"I can handle it, especially if your mother is here." He certainly gets on well with my mother, better than I do. He is probably right, so I leave it at that.

"I'll start breakfast, why don't you wake the children, they will love it."

He heads out the kitchen and I hear him limp slightly up the stairs. It is probably the cold here that makes his leg hurt more. I decide to make a full breakfast rather than the usual porridge or muesli. I put some of the bread in the oven to heat it whilst I cook the eggs and bacon on the stove top.

I can hear Peeta and the children laughing upstairs. He must be wrestling with them, or maybe sitting on them and torturing them with a bout of tickling. They will be fine without me, I am sure. I am not really that critical to the running of the house. Jewel is maturing so quickly, helping with cooking and chores. Peeta has always been good at cooking and looking after the children. He will make sure they do their homework. My mother will also be here. She is a lot more involved with the world now that she has purpose, running the medical programmes that support the new settlers around the country. She is totally different to the woman who sat in her chair and mourned her dead husband, who left her children to starve unless they found their own food. I know I shouldn't dwell on those memories but it is still painful, even thirty-odd years later.

The breakfast is ready so I quickly set the table and call out loudly for the rest to join me in the kitchen. The children tumble more than run down the stairs, followed more slowly by Peeta. I have to shout to get them to slow down, then send them to wash their hands before eating.

Breakfast is full of noise and chaos as the children tell Peeta about yesterday's adventure and all the other things that happened while we were at the Capitol. So much can happen in two days, I wonder what will happen in three weeks.

When breakfast is done Peeta sends the children upstairs to wash and dress and then calls Haymitch. As he activates the commphone, he turns and says "It will be easier to tell Haymitch and the children together." That makes sense so I nod and clear the dishes and do the washing whilst Peeta speaks quietly to Haymitch.

Haymitch arrives about five minutes later with Sae and Jessa. He is looking fragile on his crutches but his eyes are alert and take in everything. He spends a few seconds looking at each of our faces. The children come back down and there are hugs for the new arrivals.

Peeta suggests we all sit down in the lounge. When I sit on the smaller lounge he sits next to me and then addresses the others. "Jewel, Stone, your granny is coming to stay for a little while, she is going to be here later today." That is good, start with some good news.

"Why daddy, are you and mommy going away again?" Jewel as always is quite alert and sees beyond the news. Stone looks around at the faces, a look of worry on his face.

"Not quite, my angel. I am staying here with you, I am not going back to the Capitol for a few weeks." That part perks up Stone but Jewel immediately looks at me, picking up the omission. "So Granny and I will be here, but your mummy will be going away for a few days. She has been asked by the Senate to go to an important meeting."

There is genuine shock on all the faces looking at Peeta and me. "Mummy, why are you going?" Stone is younger than, and not as astute as, Jewel, but he knows what he wants and he doesn't seem to want me to go.

"It is just three weeks, Stone, I'll be back before you know it, and think of all the fun you will have with daddy."

"We don't want you to go, mummy, you can't go." There is a plaintive tone to his voice, and I almost change my mind about going but I know I cannot turn back now. I can't embarrass Peeta again and not going would certainly do that.

Peeta sees the strain in me and turns to the children. "Mummy is very important to the meeting, Panem needs her to be there. Everyone knows how much you need your mummy, they just want to know if they can borrow her for three weeks. They know you will be brave without her. Can you do that? Be brave like mummy? You know she is going to be brave as well, don't you!"

The children nod but come over to the lounge and sit either side of me, hugging me tightly.

Peeta tells the adults all the arrangements for the next three weeks and then asks Jessa to take the children out to play. They protest but when Peeta tells them it is only for a short while they go.

"So where are you going for this 'meeting'?" asks Haymitch as soon as the children are gone. "First an emergency session at the Senate, now a three week trip. How far can you go in three weeks?"

"It is classified, Haymitch." Peeta is still a Senator and aware of the need to sometimes keep certain information out of the public eye. I on the other hand am not under any restraint.

"Ireland, we are going to Ireland."

The blank looks on their faces warrant further explanation so Peeta explains the message, the maps, the mission details.

"Why do they need Katniss? This trip needs some diplomacy."

"So you're counted out with me then," I say with my eyebrows raised.

"The message specifically mentions the Mockingjay," says Peeta, interrupting any further words between us.

"Mockingjay be damned, what about Katniss?"

The conversation goes around but nowhere and the arguments cease after a while. Everyone realises there is not much choice, even though it is not necessarily applauded.

Sae gets up first and offers to pack for me so that I can spend time with the children before leaving. I thank her. Sae is practical and will pack everything I need. I head outside to play with the children.

When my mother arrives it is lunch time so we all sit to a small meal prepared by Sae and Jessa. My mother is shocked about Ireland when we take her aside and explain the full reason for the mission. She immediately demands I withdraw but I explain the situation with the Senate. Her genuine concern surprises me. Perhaps I have been too distant all these years, rarely inviting her to visit, never going to visit her. It is Peeta who has kept in contact with her. Seeing her concern now convinces me I need to make amends when I get back.

After lunch Peeta calls the pilot who will take me to District 13 to meet the Senators. He arrives far quicker that I wanted and I am suddenly nervous and fearful. Nervous that I cannot live up to everyone's expectations, fearful of the unknown. Haymitch, my mother, Peeta and the children walk with me to the landing pad outside the gates of Victor's Village.

Now that it is time to go I definitely do not want to. I look at Jewel and Stone and, seeing the look on their faces, I know I have to be brave or they will break down too. I hand my baggage to the pilot who stows it and then stands waiting for me. I step up the ladder, get almost to the top, then jump back down to the ground and run back to my family. I hug them all, Haymitch, my mother, followed by Stone and Jewel, telling them over and over I love them. I finally stand in front of Peeta. He takes me in his arms and at this moment, the worst of moments, I say what I should have said before, with tears in my eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, so sorry. I love you."

He hugs me harder than ever before, like he doesn't want to let me go, like his being needs me as close to him as possible. "I love you too, very much. Keep safe, come back quickly."

Everyone steps in around us and we are enveloped in arms and bodies. I get myself back under control and finally extricate myself. Peeta has gone to the Capitol a number of times, been away months at a time, I wonder why this leaving is so much harder. Was it like this for Peeta the first time he went to the Capitol for Senate sittings? I cannot remember. It was only a year ago, and I cannot remember. Why?

The sound of the hovercraft cathcs my attention. The pilot must be waiting. I hug each person once more, one at a time, then step into the hovercraft and take my seat.

"We'll see you in three weeks!" shouts Jewel, as she hangs on to Peeta.

All I can think is 'I hope so, I hope so, I hope so'.

We lift off and they shrink against the background of winter as the hovercraft soars straight up into the sky. They are dark dots on the pristine snow before a thought pops into my head: 'I didn't have any of Peeta's bread'.


	8. Chapter 8

Day 1 - Otwa

I stare out the window as we fly over the land. Everything is so small, so far away. I think being a pilot would be peaceful and flying a chance to leave the world behind and I am somewhat envious of the pilot.

The pilot of our two-seater hovercraft looks in his early twenties. He flew me yesterday but I didn't even notice him. Did I even say anything to him? His complexion is darker than mine, his hair jet black, cut shorter than a civilian would like, with intense black eyes that scan the horizon. Someone his age was never exposed to the Capitol's tyranny, having probably been born after the rebellion. He lives in a world, however, where the effects are still visible. But it is a better place than it was before, it has to be, otherwise all the sacrifice is in vain. I imagine the old man in District 11, hear him whistle Rue's four notes. The vision quickly disappears. It was so long ago I sometimes wonder if I remember it correctly. Real or Not Real? I thought Peeta still suffered the most, now I don't know.

I follow the course of a river as it follows its downward course out of the mountains. The pilot glances over his shoulder a couple of times. Does he even know who I am? Our eyes meet and, as if in answer to my thoughts, he asks "Is everything OK, Mrs Mellark?"

"It's Everdeen." I snap more than speak, then guiltily try to recover. "Sorry. Yes, everything is OK." I wait a few seconds and feel the expectation. "It was a little emotional out there."

"It usually is with family, Mrs M… Ms Everdeen." He learns quickly.

"Your name is Tarn, isn't it?"

"Yes Ma'am, it's Tarn Velaquez, Ms Everdeen".

"I'm sorry about that, I guess I was just a little distracted", I say, but the excuse seems to carry little weight. I think of what to say to be friendlier.

"How old are you Tarn?"

"I'm 23 Ma'am, born three years after the rebellion".

"Which district are you from? How did you become a pilot?" Small talk was never my strength but I need to make an effort. People only see the Mockingjay, not Katniss Everdeen.

"I was born in District 3, Ma'am. Never did take much to gizmos and gadgets, so when I was old enough I enlisted in the police. They give everybody who enlists aptitude tests and they made me a pilot after I did mine."

"So you see a lot of Panem, then?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I fly people and goods all over the Districts, as well as policing services."

"I think you should just call me Katniss, everyone else does."

"If you don't mind Ma'am, it wouldn't feel right, what with everything you did for the rebellion, and your husband being a Senator."

Sometimes it would be nice to be a normal person. Just be able to speak to people without that air of expectation, that feeling that because of the past something significant has to happen every time you speak to someone. It isn't his fault, I know, but it makes living with people so awkward.

A faint smile crosses my face, he certainly is polite. It was brave of him to stick to his viewpoint.

"Ok, how about Ms Everdeen?"

"I can do that, Ms Everdeen."

"Thank you Tarn," I say, and am grateful that this young man won't be calling me Ma'am. It made me feel older.

The cabin falls quiet for a while and then Tarn says "I don't do many flights to Otwa".

"Why is that?" I ask, my interest suddenly piqued.

"Well, Otwa doesn't seem to need anything from the other Districts and most of the time they have their own pilots to transport their Senators and other important people. They all seem to be soldiers or at least military, even the Senators."

That is strange and I take a few moments to absorb the information.

"I thought we were all disarming," the way I say it is more a question than a statement and Tarn picks it up.

"Yes, Ms Everdeen, but Otwa seem to have a lot of people that are not working on farms, or in factories, things like that."

"Thank you Tarn, perhaps the Senators can help explain it."

The rest of the short two-hour trip is quiet. I look out the window for long periods, watching the world go past. A storm is building behind and to the west of us and it looks like snow is coming. We enter the District 13 inhabited areas which surprise me with all the building going on. There is a small town growing and new roads map out the future areas for housing. Compared to what it looked like last time I was here, it is a totally different place. The only reason I recognise it is District 13 is the memorial in the centre of the town. It stands there, a replica of the old ruin of the Justice Building, in the midst of the town, reminding everyone of the destruction caused by the Capitol so many years ago. The image reminds me of the old vid with the bird in the corner, replayed whenever the Capitol needed propaganda material.

Tarn handles the hovercraft expertly as we descend, despite the strong winds blowing from the west. I do not even feel the change in G's, just see the change in approach.

"Otwa air control, this is Hovercraft 15AD36, pilot Tarn Velasquez, requesting landing clearance."

"Hovercraft 15AD36, this is Otwa air control, please state your cargo, mission and approach details."

"One passenger: Katniss Everdeen, diplomatic mission. My heading is 11 degrees, distance now 10 kilometres from destination."

There is a few moments delay and then the clearance comes through.

"Hovercraft 15AD36, please proceed to landing station S14. Proceed at standard approach speed, approach from 180 degrees."

We are heading for the old base. That surprises me, I thought the demilitarisation was almost done. Tarn's comments are confirmed in an instant. I am not sure why but I am worried. The air control sounded very military as well. This is totally against what Peeta has told me about the Senate resolutions and progress reports on demilitarisation.

"Tarn, is air control like this everywhere? Military?"

"No, Ms Everdeen, it isn't. It is usually friendlier, they are quite strict and formal up here in Otwa."

We come in to the designated landing station from the South, over rows and rows of brick houses, schools where the children seem to be leaving for the day, buildings that look like supply depots and shops. People are going about their lives oblivious to why I am here. One of the most important things to happen in their lifetimes and they have not even been told. It makes me uneasy.

Tarn touches the hovercraft down softly and then shuts off the engines. We unclip our straps and Tarn opens the cockpit hatch. The wind catches the hatch as it opens and almost pulls it out of his grip. He quickly secures the hatch open and then jumps out and down to help me climb down to the cold concrete. Once there he opens the latch of the storage compartment and takes out the luggage. I expected a welcome party but we are still alone. Tarn has taken out a small bag of his own which stands on the concrete apron as he climbs back up to close the hatch of the hovercraft against the impending storm.

"Are you staying on, Tarn?" I shout, wondering if we will be here alone for any length of time. It is cold and the wind is strong, the smell of it definitely says snow.

"I am scheduled for a rest period, Ms Everdeen, we are not allowed to fly more than 8 hours without rest. In the bigger hovercraft there is sleeping space and we fly with co-pilots. If this was a larger craft I would be leaving now," he says wishfully and jumps down to the concrete. "Anyway, with the storm getting worse safety rules say I need to stay grounded, especially in the smaller two-seaters."

"Where do you sleep when you stay here?" Something like the sleeping alcoves we had before, I wonder.

"I am not sure where to sleep here, Ms Everdeen, I haven't needed to stay overnight before." I can see in his eyes that he is not happy to be staying, that it is not his preferred choice. He has my sympathy.

"Well, perhaps we can eat together later, once we know where we are bunking. I doubt I will be leaving before tomorrow." I try to make him feel at ease but perhaps it is me that needs companionship. I am uneasy about being in the base again.

"That would be a great honour Ms Everdeen," Tarn say and his eyes seem to light up and sparkle. He is a good pilot and a good travel companion, I am glad I made the offer.

I see the entrance to the base about 50 metres away and decide not to wait any more. I beckon to Tarn to follow. He has already picked up our bags so we run across the desolate landing station, our clothes ruffling in the wind, toward the stairway that leads down into the base. As we arrive at the stair case the door that is set just below ground level opens and up the stairs jumps a woman in a grey jumpsuit. I am amazed that District 13 still uses the grey uniform they used when I first arrived there.

She waves us into the door and the winds slams it shut as soon as we are in. the door automatically bolts when it is closed.

"Good day, Welcome to Otwa Base, Mrs Mellark," she blurts out, somewhat out of breath.

"It's Ms Everdeen," I say. I give up on the Katniss part, I don't need to go through the process again.

"Sorry, Ms Everdeen. I am Mara Garta, I am your escort here at Otwa base. I am sorry I am late, they dispatched me to the wrong landing station. Please come with me, I will show you to your quarters."

"What about my pilot, he needs quarters for the night as well." It angers me that she has totally ignored Tarn.

"We'll arrange a bunk for him after we have you settled in your room." I wonder if they know Tarn needed to stay. Perhaps the fact he is flying a two-seater has caused the misunderstanding.

"Please make sure he has a room as well, he hasn't been here before."

She looks a little put out by my request but she doesn't miss a beat and responds "Certainly Ms Everdeen." In fact, they seem to be unprepared for our arrival completely. Not just Tarn needing to stay but me arriving as well.

I catch Tarn's brief smile and gesture of thanks. It is the least I could do.

"Are the Senators here yet?"

"No Ms Everdeen, they have been delayed due to the storm.

The shower is refreshing after the trip and I relax on the bunk in my room, lying with my eyes closed, I don't have the energy to do anything except lie of the bed. If I fall asleep will I be back in my bed at home when I wake up? The room is identical to the one I shared with my mother and Prim after District 12 was destroyed by Snow.

Luckily I am left alone for a while and I lie in the quiet room but for not long enough. A soft knock on the door disturbs my peace. I know it is time for dinner and I am obliged to go, for a few reasons. I invited Tarn to eat with me but I am sure we will eat with someone from District 13. One hope I have is that the food is better than when I was here before.

"One minute please," I say, and quickly dress. I have blue pants and a white tunic over which I wear a blue jacket with fur around the collar and the ends of the arms. I am not sure what the temperature outside the room will be. It is cold outside, I know, but I am not sure about inside, Thirteen was never warm inside and even in the years of prosperity Thirteen seems to be keeping with their old habits.

Mara is at the door when I open it, her face showing she doesn't know what to expect. "Good evening Mara, thank you for coming to get me," and I smile my most charming smile. I get the feeling I wouldn't be allowed to walk around the base without an escort.

Mara is quite formal but she does manage a smile, "It's my pleasure Ms Everdeen."

Everything is quite formal, I certainly am not welcomed the way I was at the Senate or when I boarded Tarn's craft.

We walk through to the dining hall, stopping at Tarn's door so that he can join us. He has a full uniform on, he must have spent a long time making sure it was perfectly ironed. And I am glad he did. We walk into the food hall and there are hundreds of Thirteen people, all in their grey uniforms. In comparison Tarn looks a standout in his blue uniform with the buttons, lapels and trimmings. He certainly turns heads. I don't know why but I want the people here to see how the other Districts are growing, exceeding them. They seem to be isolating themselves from the rest of us. As Tarn said, they use their own pilots, their own hovercraft. As if we are not good enough for them, or they aren't willing to share, aren't willing to be a part of Panem.

I look at Tarn and see he has noticed the attention as well. He looks at me and gives me a slight wink. He wants to smile so badly but he manages to keep outwardly serene and dignified as we walk through the vast, pristine hall. It is too quiet for the number of people that are currently in it.

We are taken to a table and gestured to sit. A person immediately comes and offers us drinks. It is strange, back in the days when I lived here no-one was served, not guests, not Executives. No-one. I see on the other side of the room people collecting food from a serving area. And I notice that before they collect food they scan at a station. Although it is not visible, and definitely not visible under my jacket sleeve, I feel like my tattoo is still there, the ink that evaporated at 22:00 every night.

We both ask for hot chocolate. I look at Tarn and me smiles. "Coffee is just too bitter." I like Tarn, he really is a calming influence, quick with a smile but always watching.

Tarn and I sit quietly for a time. The environment is sterile and alien, especially for Tarn.

"It hasn't changed much since I was here 25-odd years ago. I think the uniforms have changed style a little, but the colour is the same." He looks at me and he gives a smirk before saying "I wonder if they know how to have fun." I laugh a little. That is exactly what I was thinking.

"Thank you for being so well dressed, it makes me proud to be from the other Districts." I want him to know his efforts are noticed, although the people around us haven't made an effort to be surreptitious, staring at him as he walked through the corridors and now as we sit eating.

Tarn leans toward me and whispers "My room door was locked, I couldn't get out until you arrived to escort me".

"Me too. Makes you wonder what they are trying to hide." It feels very strange being so suspicious of what is going on in one of the Districts.

The attendant brings the drinks but with four glasses and a pitcher of iced water. So we are getting some company, which I never doubted but I wonder who it will be. Someone I know perhaps, or someone important. If it is someone I know it may be a ruse to hide something, unless the person is someone very close to me. Then there may be nothing to hide. If it is someone important then they are definitely trying to hide something, make sure that the right thing is said at all times.

Two older people, possibly our hosts, walk toward our table. There is a man and a woman, both in their 50s. He walks a step in front of her, never looking back. It is not because he walks faster, I can tell, because when a soldier steps in his way accidentally, and subsequently apologises, she stays behind him. He is familiar but I cannot place him.

They arrive at our table and we stand to greet them.

"Hello Envoy Mellark, my name is Artha Pendal, Senator for Otwa in the Panem Senate." That is where I must have seen him, at the Senate briefing I attended with Peeta. "This is Councillor Beth Neetling, Senior Councillor for external affairs."

I thank him and greet her formally before introducing Tarn who reacts formally and defers his head to each of them.

"We weren't expecting you tonight, only tomorrow morning, " says the Senator. No wonder Mara looked out of breath, she must have been assigned to assist at the last moment.

"My apologies, I thought everyone was arriving tonight to leave early in the morning." So they are nervous about me being here. Every minute I get more suspicious about what is going on here.

"The other Senators are only scheduled to arrive in the morning, we thought you were all coming together."

"I think because they were coming from the west it was easier to fly a more northerly course, to save some time," answers Tarn, "I was in Atlantis when the call came to fetch Envoy Everdeen, so it was simple to fly north and fetch her separately."

"Well, we are here and I for one would be happy with a good meal and sleep before we leave," I say, "please, sit down with us."

"Thank you", says the Councillor, and takes a seat next to me. Tarn moves to the space opposite her. Senator Pendal looks at the seating arrangements for a second and then take the seat opposite me.

The Senator waves for an attendant. He tells us what food is being served. We all order and then the Councillor asks us how the flight was.

"It was a pleasant flight until the end when the storm was coming in, but Tarn is an expert pilot, he was in control all the time despite the wind."

"Perhaps you'd like to come work in Otwa," suggests the Senator.

Once again Tarn handles the situation well. "Thank you for the offer Senator, but my family in Demoyn rely on me for many things, it would not be right for me to take a better offer and leave them behind."

"They could relocate with you. We have a lot of exciting things going on here, especially the flights over the wilderness areas," He pauses for a second, "protecting Panem, of course."

"My thanks sir, but I think we'll stay where we are for now. My father is a veteran of the war, sir, he was injured in the Capitol by Mutts; he isn't very strong."

"Very well, but the offer is always there for a good pilot up here in Otwa."

I'm wondering why they need more pilots, according to Tarn they have more than enough. Luckily at that moment the food arrives to break the conversation and I quickly get to some matters at hand. "So what is the schedule for tomorrow?"

Councillor Pendal answers. "Tomorrow after breakfast we expect the other Senators that are travelling with you to arrive although they may be delayed due to the storm. It should blow over by lunch latest. We had expected you to all leave around lunch but it may be later in the afternoon or even the next day."

Oh no, that is all I need, another day here. I am already uneasy about this place, there is something not quite right and I want to speak to Peeta but I am not sure any comms channel is secure. Unless, perhaps, the hovercraft we came in has something. Could I get a secure connection to Peeta that no-one else can hear? I would need something better than a radio, and something that didn't belong to 13.

"Thank you, let's hope we can all get under way tomorrow, the people sounded like they need help urgently." I haven't told Tarn why we are here and he hasn't asked, although he looks at me with curiosity. I am not sure that it is my place to let him know, even if I think the news should be shared with everyone in Panem.

The conversation at the table is disjointed, almost forced. There are many moments of silence as people eat and are not sure what to say. I can tell the Senator and Councillor are only with us to make sure we do not speak to other people. Even when the servers come to silently fetch our plates I see the Councillor look at them as if to say "hurry up, and don't talk".

Tarn, this young man is amazing, stretches and yawns and after apologising says "Sir, Ma'am, Ms Everdeen, if you do not mind I will retire now, it has been a long flight from (District 8) and I need to be ready for my return tomorrow."

I jump at the opportunity, "I'll come with you, Lieutenant; I am a little tired too." No-one knows I rested well after we arrived but I do not want to spend any more time with them, I feel like I am under house-arrest.

"Thank you for your hospitality," I say to our hosts, "it was good to meet you". Unspoken is the suspicion that there is more going on than has been said.

"One of our people will be sent to fetch you for breakfast in the morning," says the Councillor, "at 07:00."

"Thank you, good night."

We walk toward the exit and Mara suddenly appears to take us back to our rooms. They leave me no time to talk to Tarn. He looks at me as if to say 'be careful' and I nod.

We come to his door and he bids us good night. I get to my door and say good night but Mara stands, waiting for me to enter. The door closes shut behind me. I start to change into my night clothes and prepare for bed. After a few minutes I test the door but it is sealed. My feelings are right, we're under house-arrest after all.


	9. Chapter 9

Day 2 - Coin

Troubled sleep is fortuitously interrupted by a buzzer sounding. At first I lie still wondering what the sound is then I recognise the base alarm ringing at 05:30. Everyone is woken at the same time on the base, like they are on high alert or something.

I prepare for the day, dressing in black cotton pants and a white shirt before opening the door to go to breakfast. There is a guard at my door, in a dark grey uniform, waiting to escort me to the dining hall. We collect Tarn on the way.

Once again we are served at the dining hall but this time we are left alone.

"What are your plans?" I ask.

"The storm has passed so as soon as I can I will get clearance to take off, I need to get back to my own base." He looks at my inquisitively and then continues, "Unless you need me to stay with you until the other Senators arrive?"

"That would be great," I say with some relief. "Why do you say 'other Senators'?"

"You may as well be a Senator, at least we all know you would look after our interests. And besides, you treat me, and other people, a whole lot better than most of the Senators do. If you need anything just ask."

I am quite flattered by his comments but just say thanks in response. It will definitely be easier with Tarn staying on. He provides a sense of security for me and I need it in this place where everything is not as expected and there are many suspicious things going on.

We finish breakfast and an attendant, not Mara, comes to escort us back to our rooms.

"Do you know what time the Senators will arrive?" I ask. The less time I stay here the better.

"Yes, Ma'am, they will be here by 11H00, approximately 4 hours from now. The council briefing is scheduled for 12H00." Council briefing? This is the first I have heard of a briefing but I say nothing about that. Instead I query our own schedule.

"I am not prepared to sit in a room until 12H00, you can take us to a recreation area, or perhaps someone can give us a tour of the base, or the new town that is being built above-ground."

My request is obviously in conflict with the attendant. "I'll have to confirm with my superior, Ma'am."

"Well, please do so immediately, I am not waiting in a room whilst your superior officers consult with every person of high rank."

"Yes Ma'am, please wait here". He walks off to use his command whilst Tarn and I stand in the corridor as soldiers and other personnel pass us. We are creating a bit of a block in the corridor, traffic coming out of the dining hall is quite high, so I beckon to Tarn and we join the stream. The attendant is so busy on his command that he doesn't notice us disappear around the corner.

Tarn seems quite excited, like we are escaping from the authorities. He laughs and urges me to go a little faster. We zigzag through some corridors until we are completely lost. Then we see a group of officers walking up a corridor and decide to follow them. I suddenly think we won't get through a door at some stage so we catch up to the group and walk quietly just behind them. They get to a double door and one of the officers opens the door.

We slip through before the door closes and we are in some type of control centre. Operators sit at multiple stations monitoring screens that I do not understand. I beckon to Tarn to look and he starts to take an interest in one of the stations before moving to another. I see a map of Panem on a screen a few desks down, showing each District in different colours. There are also areas north of Panem, what we call the Wild. Red and yellow dots on the map show a lot of activity in the Wild.

An operator is watching a screen with live video showing a hovercraft flying over wilderness, the picture must be coming from another hovercraft as the camera position remains above and behind. Behind the operators stands an officer who is talking into a comm band, "Yes, President Coin, they are almost at the site now … Yes sir, I will let you know when they arrive."

I am startled by a reedy voice behind me. "Who are you, what are you doing here?" Tarn quickly steps toward me as I turn and see a thin, balding officer looking at me, artificial light reflecting off the top of his calvous head. Two soldiers with MP flashes on their arms and collars flanking him.

"Good day officer, I am Special Envoy Katniss Everdeen, this is my Assistant Tarn Velaquez. We are waiting for our meeting with your council members. We are just have a look around whilst we wait.

"Ma'am, this is a restricted area, you need to leave immediately. Please follow my two soldiers. Where is your attendant?"

"We got separated in the crowds after breakfast. There was a group of officers that looked important so we followed them here. We were lost in the corridors, this is such a big place."

"You will be taken to your quarters until you are called for your meeting. That is standard protocol."

"I will not go there, my attendant was arranging a tour and some space in a recreation area. I am not a prisoner, I am an Envoy and I demand to see whoever is in charge."

A female voice from behind me breaks the tension. "Captain, I will take care of this."

I turn around and am shocked to see Enobaria standing behind me. She is greying but besides that she doesn't look much different to when I last saw her so many years ago. She is unmistakeable though, with her sharpened teeth that look like the fangs of a mutt and her piercing dark eyes. She has on a dark grey uniform, marking her as a member of the District 13 structures. Can I call them military structures?

"Hello Enobaria," I say, trying to stay calm and appear unruffled. We were never friends, in fact we were enemies in the last Hunger Games. We even supported opposite sides during the rebellion. The only thing we have in common is that we were both victors. And, of course, that we both voted for another Hunger Games before I killed Alma Coin. Strange that she ends up here in District 13, the main force behind the rebellion.

"Hello Katniss. My apologies if your attendant hasn't assisted you correctly. We'll sort it out now. You are not supposed to be in this area. I'll take you to a separate area reserved for guests with amenities and facilities. You'll be able to wait there until the Senators arrive."

She is being quite civil so I gesture to Tarn as she beckons us to follow her.

As we go through the door and down a cold corridor my brain is buzzing with questions. "How did you come to be here in District 13?"

"It is called Otwa now. There was a need for people of calibre to repopulate the District. I have been here nine years now and we are making great strides in rebuilding Otwa."

I am intrigued by what the officer said so I ask "How is President Coin doing?"

She looks at me for a second then answers "He is doing well, his leadership has been crucial to the rebuilding. Do you know President Coin?"

"Uh, …, no, …, my husband is in the Senate." I leave the question unanswered and hope she moves on, which she does.

"Yes, I heard Peeta was in the Senate. Is he able to do that? I heard he was still suffering from the hijacking." She seems to get some satisfaction from the idea.

"He is just fine, thank you." I could shoot her more easily than a squirrel right now, if I had a bow with me. Just the thought of Peeta makes me miss him.

After a few twists and turns, and an elevator ride that goes sideways and forwards and then up we arrive at a station where there are couches and desks and computers that Enobaria states are able to connect to the vid-news.

"Can I check in with my commander, I need to report in to confirm I am still not airborne?" asks Tarn, who has been quiet but hovering protectively just behind my shoulder this whole time.

"Yes, you can use the comm-channels to connect to the police network. I'll get someone to assist you."

"Thank you."

"This is great Enobaria, we will wait in this area for the arrival of the Senators. Thank you for assisting." I say it with a tone of dismissal, I just want her to leave us now.

"Katniss, if you want anything ask the attendant, and please don't go walking around again."

She leaves us and stops to speak quietly to the attendant before leaving through the same door through which we came in.

Tarn steps in closely, "I'm not sure how secure the comm-channels are here but I think I should call in to make it appear we think everything here is as expected."

"Thanks Tarn. Let them know I wanted you to stay to help with bags or something else insignificant."

"I'm glad I stayed Ms Everdeen, things aren't right here."

"So am I Tarn. Just choose your words carefully."

He walks off to a desk with a computer and I walk over to a small refreshment booth to get some hot chocolate.

I find a booth to relax in and watch the vids on a private screen. There is only one channel available, Otwa News. The news is all about Otwa and the infrastructure being built by the council. After I while I get a little bored and close my eyes. Despite the sleep last night I am quite tired and a rest may be what I need. Close my eyes and just ignore the rest of the world for a bit. No-one wanting my time or attention.

"…Everdeen … Envoy Everdeen." The strange voice wakes me although the haze remains for some time. Why are the calling me envoy? And then I remember where I am, why I am here. The artificial lighting doesn't tell me what time it is so I am not sure how long I have been asleep. I am groggy but manage to respond to Beth Neetling. "Councillor" is all I manage to say.

"The Senators have arrived, they have had a quick lunch and the council meeting is set to start in 30 minutes. You are requested to attend."

Tarn walks over and the way the Councillor looks at him it is obvious he is not welcome to accompany me. I would prefer his protection. Or is it his company. Either way, I need to find a way to keep him with me. "What are the arrangements after the Council meeting?"

"I believe you are to leave directly after the meeting."

"And how far is it to the council meeting?"

"About 5 minutes."

"Tarn, please can you get our belongings, meet me back here."

"Yes Envoy," which seems quite formal. I hand him the room pass and he leaves, escorted by one of the guards.

"Thank you for coming Councillor. I assume you need to prepare for a council meeting. I will see you at the meeting, a guard can get us there I am sure."

She is a little unsure of what to do and then departs without a word except to tell one of the guards to take me to the council meeting.

I wait for Tarn to arrive. There is one thought in my head, to keep him with me as long as I can. Perhaps he can wait outside the meeting. Room, hall? I am not sure how they are set up here but there are fourteen councillors per District so the room cannot be as small as some of the Ops rooms I saw when I was here last. Most of the meetings we had were in very operational rooms, War Rooms I think they were called. But this isn't a war, it is council. They must have a dedicated area for the decision-makers. People in power always ensure their own comfort first.

Tarn arrives with our bags. There is a slight sheen of perspiration on his brow. Without the Councillor around there are no questions when I direct the guards to take us to the Council meeting. A quick walk to a transporter and we are whisked off to suddenly stop and be ejected into a large open foyer. The foyer is about thirty metres by ten metres with two mahogany double doors at the one end of the area. We have entered from the other. Along the wall on the left is a large mosaic of the land surrounding Otwa. The full length of the other wall is made of glass, with a panoramic view of the forest outside. The pale afternoon sunlight provides a welcome break from the sterile artificial lighting. I do not know how people can live underground like this, hardly seeing the sun, the trees, nature.

A small crowd has gathered, about forty people in the area, including Councillors, Councillors' assistants, attendants and guards. It is easy to see the two Senators from Indiana and Kota. They, unlike all the people from District 13, have clothing with colours other than grey. Even the local Senators, who in the Capitol wore the latest styles, wear grey here.

Everyone is engaged in quiet conversation in small groups, creating a hubbub of sound, so no one notices that I have entered and I decide to keep it that way. I move sideways behind a group of people but Tarn, with his smart blue uniform, is conspicuous and Artha Pendal, the Senator from Indiana, sees me. He waves excitedly and starts toward me when a chime sounds and an attendant calls politely for everyone to take his or her seats. I am unsure where to go but Councillor Neetling comes over and offers to take me to my seat. When she blocks Tarn, I advise her he is my attendant. Tarn steps close to me as if to reinforce my words.

We move into the council room through one of the double doors. There are a number of chairs in an arc from one side of the council room to the other, with about double the number facing them but on a slightly lower level. The blue theme is continued in here but without windows and low light, the royal blue colour loses its warmth and is almost black. The furniture is all dark wood and there is a long table that the councillors sit behind. I am not sure how people can debate in this setting. Unlike the Senate there the Senators all face each other this looks more like a courtroom, or a room for hearings.

As I enter the room, I bump shoulders with a man who is shorter than me. I turn to apologise but when I look into his eyes, I go numb. "Coin!" I unintentionally blurt the word. He turns and stares at me. Looking back at me are the eyes of President Coin, the woman I killed at Snow's execution, the woman who tried to bring back the Hunger Games. There is nothing about his clothing to distinguish his position but I remember the control room and Enobaria's comments.

"I don't believe we have met, Mrs Mellark. I am Jason Coin, how do you know my name?" He is calm, cold even. His voice has a deep, monotonous tone. He looks at me with absolutely no emotion. Does he know I killed his mother? He seems old enough, in his mid-thirties.

"It's Everdeen. I met your mother once or twice, during the rebellion. You have her eyes."

"People say that. I wish I knew her better, longer. I was eight when she died in the rebellion. Killed by the Capitol forces after she had ushered in democracy, they told me. But you would know that already."

"I am sorry for your loss," is all I can say. The eyes are piercing me, making me nervous. I don't think I could lie any more with conviction to those eyes, so I don't say anything more than that. How do you tell someone you killed their mother; that she was responsible for the death of your sister; that she wanted to take over from Snow?

And then we are separate and led to seats. I am in the lower tier of the room, with Tarn sitting behind me. Coin moves to the higher Council seats and takes the centre seat. I count the seats now and see there are fifteen. Behind each Councillor stands an assistant.

Districts are only supposed to have fourteen Councillors, two of which are Senators. So it is true, Coin is the President of Otwa. I am still not comfortable with the name Otwa but all of a sudden it makes sense to use it. It is as if District 13 is not part of Panem. How could they hide this from the rest of the country? How could we let them have a President?

The Panem system of government changed to the current system about 10 years ago. After the rebellion Paylor was elected President but she stepped down after four years. She wanted to make sure that a dictatorship would never come about again, so she convinced the Districts to set up the Senate with a Speaker selected from a District's Senators every year. Each year a new District would take up the Presidency. They all agreed to go in a cycle from 1 to 13 so as not to offend any District, especially 2, who sided for so long with the Capitol. The Capitol was not included and no amount of persuasion from Paylor could change the stance of the majority of the Districts.

All went well until the Presidency of District 12. With such a small population and with so many immigrants from other Districts coming in, the Senate decided the Presidency should be disbanded and all central decisions be taken by the Senate. A Speaker was elected by the Senate thereafter, without any rotation required. The only negative votes were those of District 13 – Otwa. President Magwire of Appalachia was the 13th and last President of the new Panem, Paylor being the first. Otwa was thus the only District that had no President rule over the new Panem.

Now they have their own President – and it is another President Coin.

"Welcome all, and welcome especially to the three distinguished guests who have volunteered for this mission." Coin opens the meeting and there is applause from all the people in the room. I never know when you are applauded as part of a group if you are supposed to applaud the others in the group. I clap my hands a little and look at the two Senators I am to travel with. They are doing the same but with more enthusiasm. They seem oblivious to the fact that Coin is in charge.

"Senator Pendal, as the leader of the mission I ask that you update the Otwa council on the decisions that have led up to this mission being created, as well as the objectives of the mission." The two Senators are sitting to my right, in the next two chairs. Lana Lamb is next to me and Artha Pendal is on her right.

The Senator thanks the council for their time and support and goes into a lengthy description of the Senate debates that triggered the decision. He takes a lot of credit for himself, for being the first to recommend an immediate response. As the Secretary for External Affairs, his role has been pretty much a junior role until now. He is basking in the fact he is the centre of attention now. I watch the Councillors as he talks. They must all know what is going on, their Senators have been back since the Senate went into recess, since I met with the full Senate. Surely they would have updated the Otwa Council.

I hear a slight murmur from behind me. Tarn has been with me for three days but I forgot he wasn't informed why he was bringing me to Otwa. I turn and see the surprise on his face as he grasps the implications. I am sure he won't go telling everyone what he hears today. He is handling the news very well. Other people, Senators even, reacted with hysteria. No wonder the Senate decided to keep the news under wraps.

"I want to come with," Tarn says this quietly behind me.

I shake my head, "No Tarn, I need you to do something else for me."

He starts to protest but Coin starts to talk. So far he is the only one who has. "We understand why two Senators have been allocated to the mission but why is Mrs Mellark going?"

"It's Everdeen," I say, a little irritated that I have to keep reminding everyone. Despite what Peeta says I still feel like an Everdeen.

"The message specifically requested her, you should know that. In actual fact they only asked for her, not for anything else. The message was addressed to the Mockingjay, not to the Senate."

"Aah, yes, The Mockingjay, the girl who singlehandedly saved Panem from the dictator Snow." His voice still has the same deep monotony, but there is a hint of sarcasm, so slight I doubt many people would pick it up. But I do because when he says the words he is looking directly at me and I immediately run his previous words about his mother through my mind. He has to know it was me that killed the first President Coin. My heart is suddenly beating faster, I feel how a bird caught in one of Gale's old traps must feel. I must stay calm, show nothing outward. His gaze shifts back to Senator Pendal.

"Despite the specific request, we still question whether it is a good idea to send a civilian on such an important mission, it being our first contact with anyone outside Panem for more than, what, a hundred years?"

Well, at least I agree with him on that. Senator Pendal responds that it was a decision of the Senate and that it was agreed due to the specific request of the Free Ireland Front and that the Senate decision is not to be challenged.

"Please do not mistake our intentions, Senator, we do not wish to challenge the Senate, we are merely concerned for the citizens of Panem. We in Otwa have had the best interests of the whole Panem population at heart for over a century. It is hard to change one's thinking sometimes."

I do not take my eyes off Coin the whole time I am sitting, so when Coin looks toward me I look away toward the Senator next to me but not in time for Coin to know I was staring. Eye contact with Coin makes me uncomfortable. The assertions of the Otwa Council upset the Senator. He starts to respond but Coin interrupts him.

"Senator, the Otwa Council would like to assist your mission if we can. We understand you are going with two hovercraft. We would like to offer two additional escort craft to go with you."

Senator Pendal is gracious, not even stopping to ask how District 13 can afford to send two hovercraft. Instead, he suggests the hovercraft will not be able to go the full distance due to the fuel issue.

"We have already fitted water collectors to most of the hovercraft we have in service here in Otwa. We use them for patrols along the bays. The distance shouldn't be a problem."

"We do not expect any problems that our two craft cannot handle."

"It is better to be safe than sorry. We have two new hovercraft available and it will be a good training run for some of our younger crewmembers. We do not get many chances for training exercises like this."

"Our crews fly missions up the coast all the time. They know the areas all the way along the coast. If your maps are right and the Irish are where the maps says, then the best route is up the coast and then across the sea. You want to spend as little time as possible over water. "

The Senators discuss the offer between the two of them. They do not include me in the conversation, as a civilian I really have no say in the arrangements. After a minute or so they agree and then thank Coin for Otwa's offer.

"Good! This is an amazing event, we are writing history." Coin looks at me as he says the words, as if it is a personal conversation between the two of us. Then he looks back to the Senators.

"If there is anything else we can do to assist please let my people know. Are there any additional points to be raised? No? Well then, good luck and bring back good news. Perhaps you'll meet our long-lost cousins." He calls an end to proceedings and leaves the room before anyone else, glancing back at me for a second before he disappears through the doors.


	10. Chapter 10

Northward

The land north of Otwa is beautiful, even in winter. Snow covers much of the landscape but it is pristine and glorious. We are flying north-west toward a part of the coast where we can camp overnight. Our route was decided during an hour-long planning session after the Council meeting. Although I was invited the decisions were pretty much made by the Otwa officers who joined our mission. They advised that, after looking at the maps, we should fly for four to five hours this afternoon before finding a secure landing place to bivouac for the night. They initially advise that the ocean crossing would not be possible in a single flight. They restrict flying over water to daylight hours. There are only 8 hours of light per day in winter. Getting across to Ireland will take at least 10 hours. After some debate it is agreed to start the flight in darkness so that it will still be light, although nearly dark, when we get to Ireland.

The hovercraft we are in is much larger than the two I have flown on in the last few days. There are multiple suites and a number of support staff. It is a step up from the luxury of the craft Peeta and I flew in and I am not surprised. On the side of the craft is emblazoned the symbol of the Senate.

I am on a large enclosed viewing deck with windows allowing one to look on three side of the craft, fore, port and starboard. There is a walkway around the windows and 10 swivel-chairs placed in pairs just inside the walkway. In the middle are more comfortable couches with tables to place beverages and food. The room seems totally empty with just three people. The Senators came in about two hours after I did, gave me a cursory wave and sat down on one of the couches. They have been in a huddle ever since, whispering about something. So I continued walking around the windows looking at the other hovercraft and at the landscape.

The accompanying hovercraft are flying in formation around us. The Panem escort is behind us and to the right – starboard as one of the resting pilots told me earlier. The three craft form a triangle around us, the primary craft from 13 is leading the way. Although they are in formation the distance between each craft is at least one kilometre. I check on them every now and then but most of the time I watch the world passing below us.

The time to myself is difficult. It gives me time to think about leaving my family behind, the argument with Peeta, my own behaviour. When I think about my own behaviour I see so many things that I am now not proud of and would certainly change, but you only get to do things once in life. Introspection makes me want to go back now, not in three weeks' time, and tell Peeta I am sorry. I am not sure how I will say it but I start to think about what to say to him. I also think about the children and how I saw them as a burden, as a chore. Now that I am leaving, even for just three weeks, I realise how much they are my life, how much I'll miss them.

I am watching the horizon when suddenly I see some smoke, at least what looks like smoke. I move to the front of the cabin and carry on watching the spot. Yes, there is smoke, not just mist or vapour. I look back at the Senators but they are gone. I need someone to verify what I am seeing. I keep watching and the location of the smoke is definitely west of our flight path. The light is starting to fade a bit but there seems to be a few buildings in the distance. How do I get to the flight deck? How do I get someone else's attention? For the first time I actually want an attendant there are none around.

There are five, no, six buildings. Four of them seem to be made of logs with thatched roofing, a bit like the cabin by our lake, but not as well built. They seem patched together. The other two buildings are larger and made of concrete, or brick. They have better roofs, definitely made by people with machinery. The one has paint on the roof. Two red stripes on either side with white in the centre, with a big patch of red that looks like a star, or perhaps more like a leaf. It is too faded to see properly.

People, perhaps thirty of them, run into the buildings to hide as we fly past. They seemed scared of us. If they are Wilders then they could not have seen something like a hovercraft before. No wonder that they are scared. I want to go down there and see if we can help them but I am still alone. I walk through to the exit of the cabin and call out for assistance. An attendant appears and I ask to speak to the pilot.

They take me to an intercom. I speak to the captain, telling him about the people. He tells me they are not authorised to deviate from the flight plan but will contact the Otwa lead hovercraft and ask them about the people below. He will contact me once he has information.

"But that will be too late!"

"Sorry Ma'am, we have limited time and still a few hundred kilometres to fly. I will let you know what they say. Perhaps we can stop when we come back, I'll make a note of our current position."

I can see they will not turn around so I give up in frustration.

Back in the main viewing cabin I find the Senators back from their adjournment.

"Good day Senators."

"Good day, Mrs Mellark," they respond in unison.

"There were buildings down there, with people! So far as I can tell we are outside Panem, there are not supposed to be Wilders in this area, but there are, and they have houses, a community. They seem structured."

Senator Pendal is immediately alert. "That's certainly interesting. During the briefing with the Otwa crews they said there are no people out here, they patrol up here as part of their exercises. Why would they tell us that if there are people here?"

"The other thing, when they saw our craft the people ran for the shelter of their buildings. Most of the buildings look like houses but at least one looked like a communal building. I thought that if they were Wilders then they may not have seen hovercraft before…"  
He finishes my sentence "…but if they are hiding away and the Otwa craft fly this way often then perhaps they are scared for a specific reason."

Encouraged that he seems to see what I see I take the opportunity to mention my time in 13. I quickly recount the events, including my thoughts that Coin was acting suspiciously.

"We noticed that as well. A number of items surprised us. First, we were shocked that Otwa has a President. Secondly, the disarmament treaties do not seem to have been followed, their military is a lot stronger that we thought. We are also surprised with the escorts we have with us. They did not volunteer any assistance at the Senate sessions. Why suddenly offer them when we arrived?"

Senator Pendal nods, then takes up the discussion.

"We need to report back to the Senate but we cannot right now. It is not that we cannot communicate back to Panem, we just don't think we can do so without the messages being intercepted. We have to wait until we are back in the Capitol, we can them report and lobby quietly with the other Districts to investigate Otwa."

Senator Pendal, who I thought to be a bit of a career politician, is moving up in my estimations. He is astute but understands when to act and when to stay hidden, like someone running traps.

"We thought it was just us that had suspicions, Mrs Mellark, so we are grateful you have raised this."

Senator Lamb joins in the conversation "We were debating, Mrs Mellark, before you came in. If they are operating outside the guides set up for all Districts, why would they let us all see what is going on? Surely they would have hidden it from two Senators?"

"Perhaps they do not think we would see the significance, or they are too arrogant to think it matters what the Senate thinks!" Pendal has obviously said this to her before, he seems a little irritated with her.

"There is another scenario…" I wait a few seconds, gathering my thoughts, "What if they do not intend to let us get back?"

The two of them are silent for a second. The meaning of my words sinks in slowly. Pendal responds first. "Could be why they sent two military escorts with us…"

"This is a civilian craft, they outnumber us two to one, militarily speaking…" I continue.

"That is ridiculous, they could have kept us at Otwa, why set up a charade?" Lamb is fighting the obvious. Perhaps she is scared, too scared to face the reality of the situation.

"We're going to have to get our captain up here, see what options we have." Pendal calls for an attendant and asks that the captain be sent to the cabin immediately.

Captain Prue Byrd is an older woman, possibly in her fifties, possibly sixty. Her back is, however, ramrod straight and she is probably a lot fitter than me. Her black and grey hair is worn tightly drawn into a bun at the back of her head. Her eyes are dark, like Tarn's.

Pendal asks her to sit and quickly finds out she is from District 9. I am quite impressed that he is checking, even with someone who is entrusted with the safety of Panem's Senators. After ensuring she understands that the discussion needs to be confidential he briefs her with some of our deductions. She takes it all in very calmly.

He wraps up the brief with "So we need to take some precautions, it definitely seems strange to all three of us."

I think I am a little scared, like Lamb. If we are right my three weeks could become permanent. "What if we separate from them? Could we outfly them?"

She thinks for a few seconds and then shakes her head "I doubt we can outfly them, especially with then in front and behind. I am also not leaving Captain Olsson behind either. We need to land so that I can speak to him in private."

"We could slip off early in the morning, before they are ready to take off. I think the best thing to do is get distance between them and us as quickly as possible."

"Surely they would follow us?" Pendal is not convinced by my idea.

"You are right. They could be flight-ready and get off the ground very quickly. If we don't advise why we are leaving they may suspect something," the Captain says. "Perhaps we need to turn back, say we have mechanical troubles."

"That would just get us back to District 13. What if we tell them to go back, say we don't need their assistance anymore?" I say, determined that separation is the only way.

Pendal takes up the idea, "We need to make it a positive for them to turn back. I think we can tell them it is better for them to stay, it is a risky trip and the less lives risked the better."

"When we return we can bypass Otwa, come back via Atlantis."

"We are going to need a convincing argument for them. Something quite logical."

"Is there any way we can get in touch with the Capitol without them hearing?"  
"No, all the communication channels are shared. If they are monitoring us we would not be able to get a message out, they have the encryption keys."

"We'll tell them that we thought they would escort us to the overnight stop, seeing as it was 'an exercise for their younger crew-members'. We say that it is risky and we do not want them to risk the young crew they have."  
"How about telling them we do not want to go with too many craft, we do not want to seem threatening to the people we are trying to meet."

"That's good! We can combine the ideas and then if they still argue I will pull rank."

"I still think you are all being a little paranoid," says Lamb, who has been mostly quiet.

"Well, then why don't you go back with them to 13? You can say you were flight-sick," I am not that impressed with her? Why did she volunteer to come on this mission? Did she think it would be like a cruise on the lake in the capitol?

"That would possibly help as well, as long as you kept quiet until the rest of us return."

I can see she is torn. The chance of escape from this trip seems to be enticing but surely she would lose face in the Senate.

"No, I think we need to keep our own mission group as is." Pendal has taken complete control of the discussion now, showing decisive leadership.

"Captain, how long to bivouac?"

"The pilot of the lead craft told me that we would land at a site they know, around 5PM. That gives us about 30 minutes. It will be dark when we do land."

"OK, tell the others we are landing as planned but I want us to land last. Wait for the military craft to all land, for security purposes if they ask. Once we are down we need a meeting with the captains, on this craft, after they have eaten. I'll work out what to say to them in the meantime."

"Yes Senator," she says as she stands to leave.

"Remember, we must all keep calm, as if this conversation never took place."

We all nod agreement, even Senator Lamb.

"Everyone should freshen up, we can meet back here for dinner and the meeting."

I head back to my quarters and take his advice to shower and dress in fresh clothing. One day away from home and I am caught in some type of conflict. Is it real or imagined? The others noticed things too though. Can we all be wrong?

I feel and hear the craft set down whilst I am dressing. I open my curtains to look out my port but all I see are a few lights from one of the other craft. It is dark outside. The light inside makes it harder to see outside. Perhaps I will see what it is like outside in the morning before we depart.

The four of us sit through a quiet dinner; the tension is obvious. We are all on the same side but the situation must be a unique experience for all of us. I look at the ages and I see I am the youngest of the group. So everyone here lived through the rebellion, we have all been exposed to civil war. Perhaps it is the betrayal? Or our imaginations are making the whole situation worse. Perhaps I should not have said anything at all, just left the Wilders alone.

The other commanders arrive after dinner and Senator Pendal is quite the host, inviting all to have a drink with him. He is really putting on the political Senator act, going a little over the top, seemingly more interested in drinks than the mission. The other captains are a little reticent until Captain Byrd takes a glass. I quickly follow suit, taking a glass but handing it to the lead craft's senior officer. I look at his insignia and it looks like he is a colonel. "Here you are, sir. What should we call you?"

"Brand is fine, Mrs Mellark."

"Surely we are supposed to use your rank as well?" I try to act a little naïve. Not quite the schoolgirl role, I am too old for that, but I can play the innocent civilian.

"That would be Colonel Brand," says the other Officer. He is quite a handsome man, a little taller than I am and about the same age.

"Thank you, sir, and what about you?" I widen my eyes and smile a little.

"Captain Jonas, Mrs Mellark."

"Katniss will be just fine, Captain."

I can see Pendal behind Captain Jonas, he has a smirk on his face as he pours the last drinks. I take the last two and hand one to Captain Jonas, standing a little closer than I should.

Captain Byrd then introduces the Captain Olsson.

Pendal raises his glass. "Thank you all for your services so far, our trip has been quite pleasant. I am always amazed at how simple it is to fly, even though there must be lots of work for you."

There are murmurs of thanks all round.

"Tell me, Colonel, Mrs Mellark saw some Wilders on our way here. Are they any trouble to Panem?"

"Uh, no. No they are not. We let them live although we do patrol the border. We are concerned with any expansion of Panem, whether it will interfere with their lifestyle. We do try to help where we can, dropping supplies when we see them."

"Well you can't miss them, there are buildings, six of them." I chip in, seeing what the Senator is doing.

"Mrs Mellark wanted us to turn back and see if we could help them. Obviously we couldn't do that as we need to get to this landing site ready for tomorrow's crossing."

"Yes, we do have a schedule to keep."

"I still think we need to keep Mrs Mellark happy, she has been such an important member of our society. I am sure you agree with that."

"Of course, Senator." The Colonel, initially quite relaxed, suddenly loses the smile on his face.

"I am glad you concur, Colonel. Please, when you are flying back tomorrow please drop some of those supplies you mentioned. Captain Byrd, please can you give the Colonel the co-ordinates before we depart."  
"With pleasure Senator."

"Uh, Senator, I think there is some misunderstanding here."

"What misunderstanding would that be, Colonel?"

"Well, our orders are to assist you in the crossing."

"That is very kind of you to offer, Colonel, but we will be attempting the crossing with just the two craft tomorrow. You have escorted us to this point but I will not risk your young crew any further."

"There is no risk, we have an experienced crew with us."

"That is strange, your President Coin said it would be a good training exercise for your young crew."

Everyone in the cabin watches in silence as the two men face off. The Senator seems relaxed and his words are delivered quite nonchalantly. The Colonel, on the other hand, is on edge, I can almost see the thoughts running through his mind. I have been ordered to stay with them but I am being sent away. The conflict is obvious on his face as well."

"My orders were to ensure the mission ended successfully, Senator."

"Well, Colonel, your orders have been changed. As the leader of this mission, and as a Senate Secretary, only the Speaker outranks me."  
"My orders come from President Coin…"

"The 'President' is not an official position of Panem, Colonel, unless it is as a senior District Councillor, in which case he does not hold seniority over a Senator, even a junior one. Your new orders are to return to Otwa tomorrow, and drop supplies at the Wilder settlement on your way back. We will arrange for a diplomatic mission when we get back and a supply drop will provide goodwill before the mission is sent."

The Colonel is almost shaking as he puts his glass down on the table. "Well then Senator, thank you. We will prepare for a return to Otwa tomorrow. We will bid you good night."

"Don't forget the supplies. We'll send the co-ordinates in the morning."

The Colonel and Captain Jonas turn and leave the cabin. As they turn into the corridor we hear the Colonel start talking to the Captain and his tone is not pleasant.

"I'll get the crew to monitor the radio frequency during the night," says Captain Byrd when the voices cannot be heard.

"Thank you Captain. Be on alert. This is a major concern, they almost seem to be at war with us. Whatever is going on, it needs urgent attention. Will we be able to get a message to Panem once we have moved away from them?"  
"Unless we separate our own craft and send one back, or abort this mission, we will have to wait until we return from Ireland. They have our codes, they know all our frequencies."

"You cannot let us go to Ireland alone. We wouldn't have any defences at all, from those people or from anyone else we meet," Senator Lamb adds with a hint of panic in her voice.

"You are right, we need to stay together. The question is what to do next. There are two important issues to consider." He looks at each of us in turn but we all remain silent. After a bit he continues, "So as I see it, we have three options. First, we can go back to Panem in the morning. There is a real danger that Otwa are planning something and we need to warn the Senate. Second, we can continue with the mission as planned, we are being a little paranoid and imagining there is some type of conflict. Third, we continue to Ireland but cut our visit short. We establish communication, do a quick reconnaissance of the area, the people, the political situation, and then we get back to Panem to discuss Otwa with the Senate. There are five of us, I believe we should vote on it. I am happy to accede to a majority vote. If there are two options that have the same votes I will cast the deciding vote."

Everyone nods, the options make sense and as the mission leader he has the right to make the decision on his own. I can tell already that Senator Lamb will vote for the first option. It seems Senator Pendal put that option in to appease her but knows putting the third option in will probably sway the rest of us. The two commanders will possibly vote to shorten the mission, they will be thinking not only of security and getting back to Panem to communicate what has happened here but also of what is seen as a trail-blazing mission.

Does that leaves me as an unknown for him? He is probably guessing I will want to get back to my family. Whether I vote to continue or return home, he still has three votes, himself and the two Commanders. Regardless of how I vote he has a majority. So he has already worked out who will vote each option and he will get his own choice without seeming to be the dictatorial. I am sure he wants to continue. There is a lot of prestige in completing this mission successfully. I can see why he is in politics and is one of the senior Senators.

I still haven't decided what to vote so I walk over to the table and get a glass of water. I want to go home, see Peeta, say I am sorry. Tell him I will go to the Capitol with him. Tell him I love him. I want to see the children. Even though I saw them yesterday the events of the last two days make me want to go home and leave the rest of the world to sort itself out. But can I do that? Is it the right thing to do? I wanted to get away, I have been so reclusive and trapped. Now that I get what I wanted, time away, I don't want it anymore. Is that fair to the rest though? Is it fair to Panem? And to the Irish? Can I hide away from the world forever?

Behind me Senator Pendal breaks the silence.

"OK, we need to make a decision. Does anyone vote for option 1?"

Senator Lamb raises her hand immediately. Predictable, but it is in line with her state of mind since we left 13.

"That's one vote." So now it is a choice between one week and three. What will the commanders vote?

"Option 2?"

I wait for a second, then raise my hand. "Wait, I choose Option 1 as well."

Senator Pendal stares at me, his face blank but I am sure there is a large amount of malice there.

"Thank you Mrs Mellark. That's two votes for Option 1. Option 2?"

Captain Byrd raises her hand. She looks at Captain Olsson and he follows suit. So that is two. I would have had some satisfaction if Senator Pendal did not get to cast his deciding vote, but that is not to be. I know he has the result he wanted, a chance to be a returning hero. A small smile tells me I am right.

"I vote Option 2. It's decided then. Commander, Captain, please keep this quiet until morning but keep some crew monitoring communications, as well as a guard. Get some rest yourselves, we will need you at your best in the morning. Senator, Mrs Mellark, I suggest you both try get some rest. Good night."

He leaves the cabin followed by the rest of us. It is going to be an interesting morning, to say the least.


	11. Chapter 11

Day 3 - Crossing

The morning comes, dark and cold. Looking out the window reveals little detail of the landscape. I do see some trees but only as if through a fog, the moon is still up but it is not bright. How did the pilots find this place to land? It would have been pitch black when we landed. At least there has been one benefit in being escorted by the two craft from 13. I dress in dark pants and shirt, with boots and a fur-lined jacket. Although it is warm inside I want to go outside. Being restricted to the hovercraft for nearly a day is wearing on me.

I skip breakfast and exit the hovercraft. Crew from each of the four craft are inspecting the craft, seemingly unaware of the machinations of the leaders. Lights are on and I see we are in a flat piece of land surrounded on three sides by dark pointed trees and water on the last side. The water has waves. This is the first time I have ever seen the sea. Of course I have seen pictures but I have never seen it in reality. I walk over to where it is rolling back and forth over the rocks. It has a hypnotising rhythm and sound, and I watch it for a few minutes before turning back to see what is happening with the preparations.

An officer from my hovercraft greets me as I get back and advises we are almost ready to go, so I go back inside. All the activity seems to be on the flight deck now and I enter to find Senator Pendal in conversation with Captain Byrd.

"Mrs Mellark, good morning. We thought you would still be asleep."  
"Good morning. No, I am always up early. What is happening?"  
"We are leaving in the next 15 minutes. We have made all preparations and we have enough water in the fuel tanks to make it across to Ireland, we believe. Even if we do not we can hover and take on more."

"Senator Lamb?"

"We haven't seen her yet. I do not expect her for a few hours, she isn't an early riser."

No wonder he was surprised to see me.

"What happened with the other Captains?"  
"We have spoken to them and confirmed the orders. There was no communication last night, which is suspicious in itself. We are discussing why they didn't report back to base. Captain Byrd thinks it is because they are concerned about us listening and hearing a response from Otwa. We intend to depart before they do, we do not want to be on the ground when they lift off. Let's get off the flight deck, the crew need to ready systems. They are also activating the cloaking mechanism to ensure they can't see us once we are airborne."

We head up to the main cabin and get settled. A few minutes later our two craft launch, one after the other, and head east over the water. Somewhere behind, hidden in the dark, the two other craft must be getting ready to return to Otwa.

It was strange leaving Panem, now we are flying over an ocean to a new continent, something th4e citizens of Panem has never done before. And the further we go the further I am from Peeta and the children.

The flight is quite boring. Nothing is heard on the communicators, so we do not know what the other two craft are doing. Why haven't they reported back to Otwa? That makes me worry. I can understand why we are keeping comm silence but surely they do not suspect our motives.

It is already light outside the craft when Senator Lamb joins us. By that time we are hungry so we eat and go over all the events again. The conversation last night has shaken us all. So many scenarios are possible.

What I do know is that I underestimated the ambition of Senator Pendal. When we get back the Senate will praise his leadership, the Capitol will parade him. The rest of us will be just passengers. His political ambition and influence will swell. Perhaps he has ambitions to be the Speaker. I cannot think of why he would be so eager to go on this mission, except for ambition. He doesn't seem friendly or caring enough to really think we can help these people.

Captain Byrd comes to join us in the afternoon. She reports that there are discrepancies between our own new calculations and those we received from the Otwa navigators.

"We know there is a time difference between the Capitol and the eastern Districts. In actual fact there is a time difference of about three hours from one coast to the other. The numbers we were given by Otwa indicated a time difference of three hours between Otwa and Ireland. Our navigators have reworked the calculations and they are about one hour short. We launched in the early hours so that we could get to Ireland when it was still light. There is no way we can get to Ireland before it is dark."

"Why would they give us inaccurate information?" asks Senator Lamb.

"What does that mean to the mission?" Senator Pendal asks the question before the first one can be answered. The look he gives Senator Lamb shows his growing contempt for her.

Captain Byrd chooses to answer his question. "Well, we will not be able to see the ground underneath us. We will see it on our scanners but without full light it is difficult to know where to land. We could touch down in marshy land, as an example. We will also not see buildings and considering the vid you showed us they may not have much electricity, so lighting will be at a minimum. We also cannot hover until light tomorrow."

Senator Pendal sighs. "Thank you Captain. We will have to be very careful. At the first sight of land we will have to take a chance. We really do not have much choice now, we have come too far to turn back."

"We should have turned back when we took the vote last night!" Senator Lamb's voice has raised in both volume and pitch and I agree with her.

Pendal turns to face her directly. "We will be back in seven days, I do not think the world will collapse in seven days. And we are on a mission to help another nation, a people who are living the way we lived under Snow. I, for one, could not rest easy knowing they continue to suffer and we could possibly help. Pull yourself together, we have two very good crews, they will make sure we are alright."

He storms out the room, possibly going to his cabin. I do not remember any time since I met the man when he wasn't awake. He was awake before me, and still awake after I retired.

It is an hour since Senator Pendal left. Senator Lamb is with me. I am sitting watching the unending water below me. I never imagined an expanse of water so large that you could fly over it for a full day and not see the end of it. It seems alive, the surface moving all the time. I watch the wind whip the waves which fall away and then smooth away and rise up again in defiance. The wind can blow all it likes, the sea will always win. The darkness outside arrives quicker that I thought it would, hiding the eternal conflict below us from view. My thoughts are wandering randomly when Lamb asks, "What are you thinking?"

I pause, look at her, this aloof woman who wants to be somewhere else.

"I am thinking about the water, I've never seen so much water. And it makes me think about this mission, and what we are doing. How things have changed. A few days ago I was sitting at home in 12 with my children, thinking of the activities we would do together when Peeta got home. Thinking of the tasks at home that needed completing."

"I want to go home too," she says, guessing some of my thoughts. "This is madness, why are we here? What do these people mean to us anyway? Ireland? It is so far away from Panem. I don't see any reason for this. And I didn't want to come either, why it was my responsibility is beyond me. They could have sent any number of people, there were volunteers…"

An attendant brings us hot drinks, interrupting her. They have made us milk with honey and spice, something I was first introduced to before the Quarter Quell. It is a refreshing change to the hot chocolate. I wrap my hands around the mug and breathe in the aromas, fell the warmth flow into my hands. It dawns on me how chilly it is in the cabin. I ask for a blanket and the attendant brings blankets to wrap around us.

The attendant looks about 22 years old. She is slender, athletic, dressed in a tight-fitting jumpsuit. Her tied-back orange hair frames a pretty face with pale skin that is broken by a soft pattern of freckles across her cheekbones and nose. Her eyes are a mix of blue and gold. I look at her and it is obvious why they chose her to work on a craft like this, where male Senators would like to watch beautiful women. I wonder if she is cold in such a thin suit. On closer inspection, her jumpsuit looks to have some tech. Perhaps there is a thermostat built into it.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Shar, Ma'am." She seems unsure why I am paying her any attention. Working on a Senate craft she is probably required to keep silent, ignore events, just be part of the workings.

"What do you think of this mission, Shar?" I ask.

"Ma'am, I think … It scares me Ma'am." She hesitates but then gives her candid answer.

"Us too, Shar." I see Lamb nod in agreement with me. "The Captain will look after us though, I am sure. How long have you worked on this craft?"

"It's been over three years. I was working in the Capitol. One of the Senators came into the restaurant and offered me the job after I served him. I didn't want to take it but the money they offered was four times what they paid at the restaurant."

"And how do they treat you?" I ask. Senator Lamb looks at me, eyes wide, as if to ask me what I am doing.

She looks at the Senator before she says anything, then turns to me defiantly and says, "Ma'am, you are the first guest to ever ask my name. Can I go, Ma'am?"

"Of course, you don't need to ask me for that." I say, struggling with everything that her situation and words mean.

She leaves and I look over at Senator Lamb. Lamb is staring at the door where Shar walked out, a look of shock on her face. "She is right, we never ask their names. We just order them around, 'fetch this; bring that'. … We ignore them so totally … we … what happened?" She looks at me. Does she expect an answer? I am not sure what to say. I have little experience of the new Panem, having stayed in 12 without leaving since the rebellion. I have seen the changes in 12 and they have been mostly positive, but the change in the Capitol is what is missing and people know it. They see the Senators absorbed into the culture of the Capitol. Removed from the people in the Districts, they adopt the culture of the Capitol. I see the lifestyle that Peeta has when he is there, as opposed to when he is at home. Why does he hide it from us? Does it embarrassed him? Does he see it as wrong? How do I tell this woman?

"We need to move the Senate away from the Capitol," is all I can manage, but it is the problem as I see it. Separating the leaders from the people separates the leaders from the needs of the people.

"I don't see how that would fix anything. There is nowhere in Panem from where we could run the country, except the Capitol."

"Build a new political centre; keep away the sycophants, the depravity."

"There would be fighting between the Districts, they would not let each other have the prestige."

"They could put it in 12, smallest population, most space."

"Appalachia? That's you choosing your own District, you are just like the rest. You aren't as perfect as you think."

Am I? Am I just like the others? Selfish, self-serving? Is that who I have become? Have I been treating everyone like that? Peeta and the children as well? Was my decision to stay in 12 with the children for their benefit or mine? It certainly wasn't for Peeta, I can see that now, but I still wish he had stayed on the Appalachia Council instead of joining the Senate. Then he would have been home with me, to help me and support me.

"You are wrong, there is a distinct difference between 12 and the Capitol. 12 will remind the Senators of the past. It was the only District destroyed by Snow in the rebellion. It will be a constant reminder of how Snow controlled and oppressed the people. The Senate is so disconnected from the people, you have become what you replaced."

My answer seems a little hollow and bitter now. Am I justifying my own decisions? I stand up and walk to the window.

The light is fading outside the craft and there is still no sign of land. They have scopes that can see the land in the dark but we won't know what is happening until someone tells us. The crew will be working hard so unless Pendal tells us what is going on we will be ignorant of proceedings. Why he gets to go on the flight deck is a mystery.

I take a chair with my back to Lamb. It is soon dark but I stare out the window anyway. Shar places a plate of fruit, cheese and biscuits on the table next to me but I have no appetite. After an hour or so she comes and takes the plate away, giving me a slight look of concern. I give her a small smile to ward off further attention and go back to staring at nothing.

I feel rather than see the change in direction of the craft. It is starting to descend and bear off to the left. Captain Byrd will tell me port, but to me it is left. Lamb looks up from the electronic book she started reading after I abruptly withdrew from our conversation. She has also felt it and we both get up and walk toward the entrance to the flight deck. Pendal comes in before we get there.

"We've found land! We've made it!" He is excited and more animated than I have seen before. His words bring relief. Having just water below for so many hours had made us nervous.

Senator Lamb gives me an unexpected hug. She is shaking so I hug her back to calm her a bit. I smile at Pendal over her shoulder. "What next?"

"The crew will start looking for a suitable landing site, close to the water. They want to refuel in the morning."

We go to the windows to perhaps catch a glimpse of the land but it is now too dark and there is no moon to provide even the slightest guidance. The craft continues to descend and slow. "Look" says Lamb. To the left side of our craft the lights of the escort craft are visible. They must have deactivated the cloaking mechanism. There are two white lights and a green one in the middle. "Seeing the green light means they are moving toward us but to the port side" says Shar, who has quietly come up behind the three of us sitting at the window.

Pendal, sitting next to me, looks around but I quickly put my hand on his arm to stop him reprimanding her. "We're all nervous, it is better to be together for moments like this." He nods and looks back to the window, though obviously a little displeased.

We watch the lights as they descend below us and start a spiral downward. The green light disappears, then the red light is visible. And the pattern repeats three more times until all the landing lights under the craft come on and illuminate a patch of earth. It is flat, grassy and green. There are some small trees to one side that are within the range of the lights. The craft settles and then is still. Success! They have landed. The first of our people to cross the ocean successfully. Pendal lets out an exuberant Yes and we all clap our hands. There are smiles all round. I stand up and give Shar a quick hug, like Lamb did to me. Shar's reaction is the same as mine was so I let her go, smile at her, and go back to the window.

Now it is our turn and the pilot skilfully drops down, aligns with the support craft and then gently touches down in long grass. Ireland! Let's hope it welcomes us!


	12. Chapter 12

Day 4 - Landfall

We are all awake before the sun provides sufficient light to see the countryside. Not that I could sleep very well. The whole mission is mind-bending and thoughts rushed through my head the whole night. I shower and dress in a light blue outfit, my usual pants and shirt with a jacket. Pendal, Lamb, Captain Byrd and I all have breakfast in the main cabin and watch as it gets lighter outside. The area outside is very diferent to home. Low mountains, barren except for the green-brown grass, surround the meadow we are in, just like back in 12. Although it is winter the grass and small shrubs are mostly green, which is not like home during winter, but is beautiful. The sky is partly cloudy but it will be bright enough to explore Ireland from the sky.

Captain Byrd explains the next series of events. "We need to collect water to refuel. After that we will take off and head north-west toward the point where the communications engineers say the signal originated. We should be there within two hours. That gives us four to five hours of daylight to find Farrell Laughlin. We will also keep the cloaking on."

I am relieved, we won't spend another full day staring at the grey water of the ocean. In fact I'm getting a little excited. We are part of history, we are the first to come here in so many years, definitely within the history of Panem.

We take off and go back toward the coast line. I have seen pictures of beaches from the old times but there are none here. It looks like a mountain rising out of the sea. The water washes up against rocks and brown earth. The evidence of the rising sea level is here to be seen. Never having been to the coast I have not seen anything like this, and crossing the Panem coast in darkness robbed us of an earlier opportunity. There is a surreal beauty to the place.

The two craft hover over the sea and drop pipes to siphon water. For a long period we hover as the water is taken on-board. I can see the trees on the shore and they are being blown. The pilots of these craft really are experts. Well-trained, like Tarn Velaquez. Trustworthy, dedicated. The youth of Panem are blazing a new path for our nation. I sit and think about what the youth and others in Ireland are like. Are they more like my generation? Poor, badly educated, oppressed?

They finish the collection process, retract the pipes, ascend to a higher altitude and head north-west. We are all at the windows and even Pendal says nothing when the crew members join us. We fly back over the meadow and the mountains. As we cross over the peaks we see we have landed on an island. Captain Byrd gets up and goes over to a map that she spread over a table earlier. After a quick view she comes back. "The maps we have are old. This island was once part of a bigger single island. When the sea was lower there was a town down there where the sea now is, it was called Tralee. It is to the west of where we are supposed to be going, near a place on the old map called Tipperary. I'll go to the flight deck, make sure we are on the correct flight path."

We fly over the island and across a strait of sea and then over another bigger island. It stretches away into the distance but we can see coastline to the north. The land undulates, going from one hill to another. Everything is green. "Look!" Shar is the first to spot it but everyone sees it almost immediately thereafter. A house! It has a grey roof with white walls. Around it there are wooden fences surrounding pastures. Within one pasture we see a flock of sheep and a single cow.

"We'd better get to the flight deck, we need to have Captain Byrd with us," says Pendal.

The two Senators and I head down to the flight deck. I have never been here. It is full of screens and control panels. Four people are sitting at the controls, Captain Byrd stands in the middle quietly giving orders.

"There's a building…" says Pendal.

"We saw it. Do you want us to land there?"

He looks at me and I shake my head, and I hear Lamb say "No."

"No Captain, we need to keep to our mission. Proceed to the planned location," he orders. "And perhaps we need to go a little higher. We don't want to scare the people below, from the looks of it they do not have modern transport."

"We have the cloaking mechanism on so they won't be able to see us, but we'll go higher so the sound isn't as loud." The Captain nods to one of the pilots who adjustment our altitude. As we progress we see more houses, always on small farms. It seems it would be a lonely life; each house is isolated from the others. Old roads can be seen, some overgrown but others with two parallel tracks that show some type of vehicle is used here.

After 30 minutes we start to see small villages, usually less than one hundred houses. We can see patchwork green quilts that are paddocks next to each other, but they are smaller from the height we are at so we cannot see much detail.

"Captain, Ma'am. We are about 30 kilometres from our destination," says the pilot.

"Senator, I suggest we land a short distance from the target. We cannot be cloaked when we are on the ground and we may want to keep the craft hidden," suggests the Captain.

"We'll take your advice on it Captain," says Pendal.

"Everyone take a seat."

As we all take seats a town comes into view on the horizon. There are hundreds of houses with pale smoke rising from some.

We all peer out as the Captain and her crew do their work. They choose a clearing where we can land off to the starboard side. As we descend we see a run-down manor house close-by. This time our craft lands first but without the circling we saw last night. The pilot takes us in directly and the second craft joins us quickly, winking into view a few seconds before it touches down. We are surrounded by trees, obscuring our view but also hiding us from detection. We have arrived in the land of Farrell Laughlin.

Everyone except the flight crew has been quiet but once the systems deactivate everyone starts talking at the same time.

"Did you see the town?"

"There were houses everywhere..."

"And farms…"

"And roads, with tracks…"

"I saw farm animals…"

"Did anyone see people?"

"There must be people…"

"What did they look like?"

"I didn't see any but someone built the houses."

The excitement is contagious and it takes Pendal to stop the talking and calm everyone down.

"Quiet!"

We all look at him in surprise; his voice has cut through the noise like an arrow.

"We need to decide what we are going to do next, and when. Senator, Captain, Ms Everdeen, please join me upstairs." He turns and leaves the flight deck and the three of us follow dutifully, somewhat demurred by our reaction to landing.

In the viewing cabin we all sit around the table with the maps. "Captain, where are we?"

The Captain moves the map on the table and points to a dot on it. "This is the town of Tipperary. We are about four kilometres to the south, on a wooded ridge. The signal came from a farmhouse halfway between us and the town."

"What do we do next?" I get the feeling the Senator is enjoying himself. Perhaps he has been feeling bored in the Senate. He has taken charge without any question from any of us.

"We need to send some teams out to scout. Things we look out for include armed soldiers, water and food sources, what people are wearing. We will listen for language." The Senator looks surprised. "We cannot assume they speak English. Our teams will then return and brief us before we send a delegation to meet anyone."

Not more delays! We come all this way and they want to scout! This is frustrating but the Captain obviously knows what she is doing. Out of respect I temper my feelings and keep quiet but Lamb does not.

"There is no sign of technology. How dangerous can it be? I'll die of boredom before the locals will kill any of us. I bet they have pointy sticks and not much else. I say we go into the town and contact the local leaders."  
"It isn't worth risking our lives for a few hours. Patience, Lana, patience." Senator Pendal is clearly frustrated with her input but keeps himself calm. "We follow the Captain's advice. How long Captain?"

"Well, it is midday by our calculations; I suggest sending a team with surveillance equipment immediately. They will take a while to get to the town; they need to remain undetected. Once they get enough information they will come back, I would say they will be back during the night."

"Can we at least get off the craft whilst they are gone?" I ask. I need to get into the open, the confinement is depressing me. Lamb nods in agreement.

"Yes, as long as we stay within the trees," says Pendal.

"I don't think it is a good idea," says the Captain.

"Thank you Captain but I think it will be fine. You can deploy a guard around the area whilst we are outside," says Pendal. I think he understands our frustration, getting outside will help morale. Plus he is asserting his authority.

She nods although she is not happy about it.

"Deploy your teams."

"It will take a few minutes to get the equipment, choose the people to go."  
"Thank you," he says and gets up. "I will need different clothes. I'll see you outside."

Lamb follows him, considering she is dressed in a cotton dress she is probably thinking of doing the same. The Captain leaves and I am alone. I decide to go outside and wait there for everyone else. As I walk to the exit I see Shar.

Shar's hair triggers a memory that stops me short, a memory of a girl and a boy, desperate to avoid capture. The red hair is more orange than the girl who became an Avox, but I have a sudden urge to get closer to this girl.

"Want to come outside?"

"Yes. Thank you, I thought we would have to stay on-board."  
She follows close behind as I move to the exit. She moves ahead to open the hatch and we climb down. The clearing is about 100 metres by 50 metres, surrounded by dark green coniferous trees that are about 10 metres high on average, on the gentle slope of a hill. They have not lost their foliage even though it is winter. We instinctively walk toward the tree line, not saying anything but enjoying each other's quiet company, not wanting to break the silence with words. The place is beautiful, serene. The fragrances are sweet and earthy, the plants have combined with the wetness of everything to make it smell like it looks, natural and unspoilt. There are no shadows as the sun has yet to break through the cloud cover.

I start to hum, a tune I usually sing to the children when we go to the meadow or the lake. Shar reaches down and pulls a clump of vegetation out the ground. "Look at this," she says, and shows me some small green plants with leaves that have three parts to it, each one in a slight heart shape. "Very pretty," I respond.

We reach the end of the clearing about fifty metres from the two craft. A bright flash lights up the trees in front of us, followed immediately by a mind-numbing roar of sound. A force hits us from behind, knocking me to my knees. Shar, a few steps ahead of me, manages to stay on her feet. I see her turn and although I cannot hear it, I see her scream. My ears aren't working; there is a ringing in them. I spin around on my knees then fall backwards to sit on the ground. Our hovercraft is gone. Not gone, blown up. A retina-searing fire has engulfed the place where it was. The other craft is still next to it. Pieces of hovercraft and other things I cannot bring myself to think of are falling on the second craft and then into the clearing between us and the fire.

The second hovercraft starts to lift off the ground, rotating as it gains altitude and starts to climb steeply away from the fire that was our craft. I feel Shar grabbing me under my armpits and trying to pull me up. She is shouting something but I cannot hear the words, when I see a rocket streak down from the sky and hammer into the second craft. This time I see the explosion, feel the heat on my face. Shar is unbalanced and gets knocked over and I fall on top of her. I gasp for a second, roll to my left off Shar then I push myself up to a sitting position. I sense Shar do the same next to me. My hearing is returning because I hear Shar mumbling "Oh no, on no, on no". Her hands hover over her mouth, her eyes are wide open, unable to look away from the destruction. The second craft has crashed, dropping in a madness of fire into the trees. The fire bursts across the trees and many of them ignite from the heat. I look at the blazes consuming the two hovercraft. There are other ignitions, started by the exploding parts spreading all over the clearing and the woods. I can feel the intense heat on my face. The whole place is fast becoming an inferno.

Despite the destruction and threat of being consumed by the inferno I cannot help sitting and staring. Who fired the rocket? There must have been two, at least. There are no survivors, I have seen war and the destruction in front of us is complete. We need to move! I rise and grab Shar's arm, pulling her up and dragging her away into the trees away from the expanding fire. This is not an accident, I saw the rocket. Someone is going to make sure there are no survivors and we cannot be here when they arrive.

Shar is sobbing as I drag her along and keeps stumbling. We run, fall, crawl, get up and run again, through the trees and down the hillside. I'm trying to work out which direction we are going. Where should we go? Not to the town, I don't know who we can trust. We need to hide, find shelter. Get warm, calm down. I can feel my heart hammering in my chest, from shock and running. I stop and Shar collapses on the ground, panting heavily. Looking around I see just trees. We have put some distance between us and the clearing.

"We were supposed to be on the hovercraft," gasps Shar.

"Don't think of it. We weren't. Don't think of it. We need to get further away. Get up. Come on, get up. "

I help her up and we stumble through the trees again. Suddenly there is an end to the trees and a hedge just beyond them. It is man-made so we stop. "Where are we going?" Shar asks.

"I don't know. I just know we need to get away from that," and I point in the direction we came from. "We need a place to hide, we need to avoid being seen. The explosion would have been heard from the town, people will be coming."

Something the Captain said rings in my mind. "If they see our clothes they will know we are not from here. We need to find somewhere to hide, keep warm, work out what to do next."

"How are we going to get home?" There is a note of panic in her voice, the idea has obviously just occurred to her.

"I don't know but survival is our first priority. We need to stay focussed, we need to stay together."

My mind is racing, working out where we are, what the landscape around us is like. I think back to what we saw from the sky as we were descending. There was a forest bordered by a road on the lower side. We landed near the northern edge of the forest, in a clearing. We've run through the forest and downhill, so we must have gone in a northern direction. Now we are next to a hedge which must run along the road. I step out of the tree cover and walk to the hedge. Looking to my left I see smoke. So the town is in front of me along a road that intersects with the one I am standing next to.

Shar is staring back into the forest, shivering. Her clothing is not warm enough for extended exposure to this weather but I don't think it is cold that is making her shiver. It is fear and adrenalin.

I wonder why I am not shivering the same way. This sounds so familiar to me, running from an enemy I cannot see, trying to work out how to stay alive. I have an advantage over whoever has attacked us. I've been through two Hunger Games and a war. Now we're on the ground I know how to survive. My instincts are taking over. I am not easy to kill, I am a fighter. I haven't been for so long but it comes naturally for me. It is ironic, I am close to possible death but I feel so alive. It's like I have been asleep for 25 years.

We can't use the road, there will be people coming. I walk over to Shar and kneel down next to her, taking her hand in mine to get her attention. It looks like she is starting to calm down. "We need to move east and then north," I point, "there are places we can hide and there is an old farmhouse I saw from the air, between one and two kilometres away. There are people coming along the road, we need to stay on this side of the hedge and move quietly. Follow me, watch for my signals."

We help each other up and start moving along the hedge, watching for people. Voices are audible over the hedge, people are speaking in a language that I do not know. There are running steps and the sound of hooves and iron wheels over rough roads. We move quietly until there is a break in the hedge where the two roads intersect. We hide against the hedge, listening for voices or any sounds that indicate people are there. After a few seconds we sprint across the gap to the other side and dive behind the next fence. I wait to see if there is a reaction and when there is none I get up and carry on along the fence.

We keep hearing voices but remain undetected. After a few minutes there is a large but run-down house and small wooden barn ahead of us. It looks like the one I saw from the air. We keep close to the hedge and reach some bushes near the barn where Shar hides whilst I watch for any signs of detection. When I think all is clear I motion to Shar and we dash to the barn, entering through a small door with only the top hinge connected, on the side away from the house. Shar turns and closes the door, bolting it so that it doesn't swing open.

The barn looks unused. There are no animals and only old equipment, everything is dank. The light comes through gaps in the main doors and two small windows high in the gables. The thatched roof is in need of repair. It's a perfect place to hide. There is an old two-wheel cart in the corner to the left by the large door, with an old tarpaulin draped over it. I go over and start pulling the tarpaulin off the cart. Shar helps me and we get the tarpaulin straightened and spread over the cart. Then we climb on the cart and slip under the tarpaulin.

"What now?" asks Shar.

"We hide, I don't think the locals will expect that anyone escaped the explosions. This barn is a good place, it doesn't look like anyone comes in here. It will keep us warm. Tonight we can go out and look for food."

She nods. "What about getting home? Will they send someone to find us?"

"Who? The Senate? I don't know. They know our destination. They expect us to be gone for three weeks so…"

"Why three weeks? We heard the Senator say one week." I forgot she was waiting on us. I wonder what else she has heard waiting for someone to order a morsel or other fancy snack. Trading in secrets? An image of Finnick's face ghosts across my mind. People have a need to talk, to share secrets, to boast of their own knowledge and importance.

"We changed it just before we crossed the ocean. The original mission was supposed to be three weeks. There was some strange behaviour from the District 13 … Otwa … team. We were worried so we cut it short, without telling the Capitol. We should have just turned back."

Thoughts start spinning through my head. How could I have prevented this? I think of the vote. Could I have changed their minds? Although I voted to turn back I could have convinced Captain Byrd, convinced her not to risk lives. I should have been more assertive, spoken more about the dangers of the crossing, the threat of District 13.

Shar has a good point though. How are we going to get back? If we don't return in three to four weeks they will ask the District 13 teams what happened. No, they won't! They don't even know that the extra hovercraft accompanied us. Perhaps when they announce we are missing the teams that accompanied us will report that they left us to cross alone. They should have done that already. Will the District 13 command have already reported to the Senate? I'm not sure they would have. Their motives are questionable.

How were we spotted? It wasn't an accident, I saw the rocket hit the second hovercraft. We were cloaked the whole time, until we landed. It would be highly unlikely that someone on the ground saw us, and the time from when we landed until the strike occurred was very short. Why would the locals attack us if they didn't know who we were? Maybe it was the Union.

"Ms Everdeen…" Shar whispers the words.

"What? … Sorry Shar, I didn't mean to snap. I was just thinking. Please call me Katniss. What is it?"

"Do you think they will come to get us?" Her tone is vacillating, showing her fear.

"Right now we need to focus on surviving. A rescue party won't be here for a month at least. We'll need food and water, shelter. This barn isn't going to be suitable for more than a day or two. If people suspect someone survived the explosions they will come and look here."

She is still shivering, her eyes are starting to water, so I move over and pull her close, head against my collar bone, arms wrapped around her, like I do with Jewel and Stone when they are scared, or sick, or cold. Her suit is definitely tech. I can feel the warmth of it against my body.

"Shar, I will fix this, I swear." Again I have images of the red-headed Avox who served us during the 74th Hunger Games. I think of the plea for help in her gaze as I hid under the rock shelf and guilt flushes through my psyche as I recognize the same please in Shar's voice. "I will get us home."

She nods against me. I cannot see her face so I don't know if she is nodding through belief or just to give some affirmation.

"Tell me about your home … before you went to the Capitol,' I ask, thinking that may help her calm down.

"… We lived in Missippi, in a small village called Florence. That's near Jackson. We were poor but everyone in the village always looked after each other. My father worked the fields. He was a hard worker. His hands were never completely clean, with ragged nails from the manual labour. I think my parents were from somewhere else, we weren't like the other folk in the village. It was just me and my father though. My mother died when I was five. I don't remember her much, except she had hair like mine, and hugged me a lot." She pauses, undoubtedly wishing she was back in her mother's arms.

"People do hard things to survive. My father worked so that I could go to school, get educated. He did it all for me. It must be hard for a man to look after a little girl all on his own. Girls need mothers. Florence people looked after each other though. There is a respect they all have for what is good and right. They used to gather once a week on a Sunday and sing. They used to sing to a God called Jesus, all sorts of beautiful songs. They sang at other times, when they were working, or just walking, but the Sunday singing was the best. My father didn't put much faith in it but he never told them that." She pauses again, and a hand comes out of the tarpaulin to wipe her eyes.

"My father was a good man. He never forgot my mother. He used to tell me stories about her but the stories changed over the years, became better and better. Every year she became more beautiful, more loving, more … just more. I was seventeen when he died. With all the changes after the war the houses were being rebuilt and farms given out and I was too young to get an allocation even though father worked so hard for so long. Everything we had was given away to pay what my father owed, plus the funeral. The loca council demolished our rickety wooden house to make way for new housing. Everything was gone."

"Five months later, when I turned eighteen, I left the orphanage in Jackson. There weren't many children there, not like after the time of the rebellion. There was no chance for me staying in Missippi, so I sneaked a ride on a train to the Capitol."

It's a hard story to listen to, so much loss for a person so young. And it reminds me of so many aspects of my life. I want to give her comfort but the words stick in my throat, so I hug her a little tighter. We sit in silence with the ineffective tarpaulin covering our bodies. Sharing body-warmth combined with the tech suit is a help though and Shar's shivering has faded and is almost gone.

I don't want to tell her but I am getting a sick feeling in my stomach. It is like someone has grabbed my stomach and is squeezing and twisting it. The reason has been triggered by her story. I am thinking of when, if, I will see my family again. Images of their faces flash in my mind. Peeta, Jewel, Stone, Haymitch. My mother. I left on bad terms with Peeta, I just want to go back and say I am sorry, tell him I love him, tell him I need him. Tell him that I appreciate his efforts, his support and sacrifice. He is a good man, like Shar's father, sacrificing himself for us, staying in the Capitol despite the memories and isolation. I ignored his point of view, his own struggles. I close my eyes and in my mind I picture us holding each other, like we did those many years ago when it was just the two of us against everyone else. It seems I have forgotten how much we needed each other, how much we supported and protected each other.

What will the children do without me? What will I do without them? Survive! I need to survive! There are people here, we can get help. However long it takes, we need to get back to Panem. Surely someone here has a form of transport, something that can get us back across the sea. We can't just walk into town until we know more about the people but we cannot hide for a month. It will get even colder as winter progresses and without food or water our chances of survival are small.

I'm scared. Scared I won't get home, scared about what has happened here. All those people gone! Captain Byrd, the Senators, the crews. I feel the tears welling in my eyes but I have to make sure Shar doesn't see me lose my composure, which would send her over the edge I am sure.

"I need to get up," I say, then kiss the top of her head. She sits up so that I can climb out from under the tarpaulin and hop off the cart. The barn is musty, spores are making my nose itch and the pale light is straining my eyes. Each corner of the barn contains old relics of a better time on the farm. There are plough blades, scythes, blade sharpeners in the one corner. Old lamps, the kind that need wicks and oil, hang along the side wall, with ropes coiled in cobwebbed piles nearby. Rakes, pitchforks, spades and hoes line the other wall. At the back of the barn are four stalls, for horses or cows. The number of implements shows this used to be a busy farm.

As I complete my quick search I find a ladder standing behind the cart. Struggling with the height, I manage to get it over to the window above the main doors. The rungs are all a little loose so I take care getting to the top. Success. The window looks out on the house. Holes show at one end of the thatch roof, the paint is streaked with stains from rain water running down from the walls. The door in the middle on the building is closed though, as are the dirt-covered paned windows on either side. If anyone is living here then they are as badly off as we are now.

The view of the rest of the farm is limited and I cannot see the gate to the road, it is obscured by the house. That possibly helped us get to the barn unseen. If I am not mistaken the road leads toward the town. What did the map say? Tipperary? We need to get there to get food, clothing. From what I heard of the language the people were speaking we will not be able to talk to them. Farrell Laughlin spoke English though. Perhaps they speak both. Or is he the exception?

It's getting dark outside now, we will be able to leave soon but it will be difficult to get around in the dark without any moonlight. We also have to be careful with light. Even if we can get one of the lamps lit it may be too dangerous. What to do? What to do?

I climb down slowly and go over to the cart. Shar has rearranged the tarpaulin and found some sack cloth in one of the stalls that she has arranged between the two folds of the tarpaulin. At least the shelter and warmth issues will be solved for one night.

"We'll venture out after dark, there must be a well somewhere close by, we can get some water and get back here. Watch out for people. No fire tonight. In the morning we can scout around in the house, see if there is anything we can use. Then we need to choose our next move. I think it the only option is to get to another farm where there are people and see if they know Farrell Laughlin." Shar nods at the suggestions. I think she is happy to follow my lead, she probably hasn't been in a situation like this previously, despite her hard life.

"Who's Farrell Laughlin?" she asks shyly, as if she thinks everyone is supposed to know who he is.

"Sorry, he is the man we have come all this way to see," I say.

We wait for an hour after dark. I check through the window and see nothing outside. Leaving the barn through the side door keeps us out of sight of the house and road and we circle around the back of the barn. It takes about 10 minutes of tripping and stumbling before Shar calls softly to me though the darkness. An old well with a crank over it stands 20 metres from the house on the opposite side of the barn where we exited. A brief search reveals no buckets so we move to the house. Shar opens the door very slowly, trying to keep it as quiet as possible. We move into the house and find ourselves in a small room. It is even darker in here than it is outside.

"Dhá lucha sa dorchadas" A man's voice from the corner almost stops my heart. Shar lets out a little scream. We turn and back away from the direction of the voice. "Atá á lorg agat le haghaidh cáis, lucha beag?" Despite the shock the voice is surprisingly melodic, like he is almost singing the words.

A cover lifts off a lit lamp that stands at the end of a long table. Next to the table sits an older man dressed in a threadbare woollen overcoat and a baggy cap. His beard is white and his dark eyes look out from beneath dark overgrown eyebrows. Across his lap is a weapon. A shotgun! I have seen them before in the Seam. They are not like the weapons used by our police, they fire multiple pellets instead of energy, but they can still inflict fatal wounds.

Shar moves behind me as I step backward, before a cupboard prevents us from retreating further. Now that there is some light I see the room is a kitchen. I look around for a knife or some other implement to protect us but I see nothing. The suspicious man doesn't move, he just sits and stares at us. There is a glass on the table with a clear golden-brown liquid in it. It reminds me of Haymitch's white liquor.

"We need water. We were only looking for a bucket for the well. We weren't going to take anything." Shar says.

"Béarla atá tú?" he asks, with a sudden suspicious look in his eyes.

The man stands up and opens the lamp to provide more light. His shotgun stays in his right hand. He is a tall man, despite his age. I estimate he was close to six and a half foot tall when he was young. We cower back as he approaches us. His hand stretches out slowly and I stand dead still as he feels the material on my sleeve. Then he reaches toward Shar. She lets out a frightened squeak. He pauses then touches the material on her sleeve as well. The texture of her suit causes his eyes to widen. He steps back two paces and looks at us for nearly a minute.

"Where are you from?" he asks. The English is accented but understandable.

"You speak English! Thank you, that's great. We were looking for some water, we are thirsty," I reply.

"I heard your friend. Considering you are in my house uninvited, I suggest you answer my question," he says in a more threatening tone.

Shar's hand on my shoulder is squeezing harder. How much should I be telling him? Can we trust him? We still don't know who attacked the craft. I haven't told Shar that I saw a rocket; for all I know she thinks the explosions were accidents. If I tell him now will it be too much of a shock for her?

"Can we sit down and get some water? I'll tell you anything you want to know," I say. "Intimidating us like this like this is not helping anyone."

He nods and steps back to the table, leans the shotgun against the back wall away from us and fetches another lamp. When he has the second lamp lit he beckons us to the table. He fetches two earthenware mugs, places them on the table, gestures to a jug, and sits down in his chair, sideways to the table.

Shar and I move forward warily. We haven't had a drink all day so we each drink a full mug and then start on a second. The water is clear and almost sweet.

"Sit down."

We do as directed. He hasn't stopped watching us the whole time and sits silently as we sit and sip the water.

"You don't have much time before I decide you are trouble," he says suddenly.

I decide we need to trust this man. Although he isn't very friendly he hasn't hurt us and has given us water. There is also something familiar about him. "We aren't trouble. We are looking for someone. Farrell Laughlin," I respond.

His eyes squint, he sits up a little straighter and leans forward, "Farrell Laughlin? … What do you want of Farrell Laughlin?"

"My name is Kat, this is Shar." I let me him know our first names, partly because I am still cautious and also because I do not know Shar's family name. He doesn't show much emotion but his eyes are quite expressive and they show surprise when I tell him where we are from. I don't tell him about the rebellion and my part in it. I may have to explain it later but I'll avoid that part unless he asks specifically. I get to the message from Farrell Laughlin and explain that he asked for assistance. When describing our journey I leave out District 13. I let him know about our first landing and then, realising he will probably guess about the explosions, I tell him about the second landing, including the rocket. I reach out to take Shar's hand as I describe the second explosion and the rocket that caused it. Through her hand I feel her shock.

"So we came to help Farrell, now we need his help," I conclude.

There is silence. He eyes are on me, staring, ignoring Shar. I desperately want to look away but hold his eyes instead, not wanting to appear weak. The back of the wooden chair is digging into my back so I eventually have to adjust my position and get relief from the eye contact. When I look back at him he is still watching me.

"Why were the two of you sent?" he asks. This man doesn't like to waste words it seems.

"Can you tell us your name before I go on?"

"No, not until I think I can trust you."

"We've told you a lot about ourselves … Shar works as an attendant on the hovercraft we came across on. I was requested to come. I was part of the rebellion that overthrew President Snow twenty-six years ago. He was a dictator."

"She won the Hunger Games," adds Shar unexpectedly. I look at her and frown briefly. That wasn't something I wanted to share.

"Who was the leader of you party?"

"Senator Arta Pendal." I keep my answer short. Let him ask the questions about the detail.

"Why were there two wrecks?"

"One was a diplomatic craft, the other was for protection."

"Are you a Senator?"

"No."

"How many Senators were with you?"

"Two."

He looks at Shar and then back at me. "So what is so special about you that you are here but are not a Senator?"

I don't answer but I don't think he expects an answer. He maintains eye contact for too long again and I decide to break it this time.

"I know Farrell. You can't go to him, but perhaps I can bring him to you."

We look at each other, barely able to contain our emotions. There is excitement, relief and hope intertwined.

"We can't stay here, they will be looking for you. Follow me."

He hands a lamp to me and, taking the other one, moves to the next room which looks like a sitting room. He goes to the fireplace and reaches around the side. A large click is heard and he swings a secret door open. "Follow the tunnel, I'll be right behind you," he says, pointing into the dark recess.

I take the lead as I have the torch. We drop down a steep flight of slippery stone stairs. At the base of the stairs a flat corridor runs away from the house. I wait for Shar and then start down the tunnel. The tunnel has stone walls for about fifty metres before it becomes just dirt. It is high enough for Shar, who is taller than me, to walk upright. It feels we have walked a kilometre when we get to the end of the tunnel, but from my time in the tunnels under the Capitol I know it will not be that much, maybe five hundred metres. There is more stone lining for the tunnel and then another set of stairs.

Our host has caught up by the time we reach the stairs. Considering he is stooping to avoid bumping his head, he has made good time. He pushes past us and climbs the stairs rapidly. I see he has his shotgun. There is a creaking and then his feet disappear. Taking it as a sign to follow I usher Shar ahead of me and follow her closely. The room we climb into looks almost the same as the one we left. The man closes the secret door and walks to another room, raising a hand for us to stay.

Shar steps close and whispers, "Do you think he can get us home?"

"Anything is possible," I reply without committing.

Shar seems more relaxed than at any time today. Her only wish is to get home. There is doubt in my mind that we can make it back to Panem. I am going to have to keep my thoughts to myself, wait until I am able to speak to our host alone, or perhaps to Farrell Laughlin.

Our host comes back in with an armful of wood. He starts a fire with a tinder box whilst we sit on a couch and watch. I look around but don't see any light switches or fittings. Thinking back, I didn't see any type of oven or cooking unit in the kitchen either. These people don't even have electricity! If they don't have electricity how could they possibly have aircraft to take us home?

The whole situation reminds me of people living in the Seam. It is a subsistence life, a fight against the elements for survival. Back at the Seam we saw the difference between the life in the Capitol and our own. We were aware of the grotesque and vast divide between them and us. Do the people here have the same comparison? Considering Farrell sent a vid there must be some sort of technology. They must have some view of the differences.

The couch we sit on has wooden arms and dull, worn material I cannot tell the colour of. A person would not choose to sit on it if there were any alternatives. Our host - I wish I knew his name - takes a matching armchair of even poorer quality and moves it noisily closer to the fire. From the original positions of the furniture, I think the couch is his preferred place to sit. He disappears through the door again.

The fire generates a surprising amount of warmth, even though we are three metres away from it. The heat reminds me how cold I am and how, in a time of high stress, I have put the aching of my skin in the back of my mind. My fingers are starting to tingle with renewed life but my toes inside my boots are still sore, so I take off the boots and stretch the toes toward the fire. Wanting more, more warmth and more comfort, I sit on the floor with my back to the couch with my toes closer to the dancing flames.

What I would not give for a cup of hot chocolate now, or perhaps spiced milk with honey. In just over twelve hours I have gone from an immoderate served Capitol breakfast to hiding out in a barn and sneaking around, desperate for a drink of water.

Footsteps alert us that our host is back. To our delight, he has water and some basic food – farm bread and cheese. He lays the tray on the floor, slices pieces of bread and cheese, and hands them across to us. The cheese is soft, not quite butter, and is perfect with the bread. The bread is crusty but soft inside, a little like the sour dough Peeta makes. I watch Shar control herself as she takes small bites of the food, even though like me she wants to wolf it down. I close my eyes as I eat and think of sitting in the kitchen at home, eating dinner with my family. It hits me again. Twelve hours ago, I was eating breakfast. Four days ago, I was with my family. It feels like an age.

"What do you know about Farrell Laughlin?" asks our host before biting into a slice of bread and cheese.

"He is thirty years old, or thereabouts. He said he was the leader of the Free Ireland Front. We know the signal came from somewhere around here. Near your town of Tipperary. That's about it."

"Tipperary? That only exists in books. Nowadays it is Nua i mBaile Átha Cliath or New Dublin, depending on the language one speaks. They changed it to appease the Leinstermen, because we are in Munster. When the seas rose, the water wars came. It was very nearly genocide until they agreed that with so few people left there was enough land and fresh water for everyone. They split Ireland north and south again, and built a new capital of southern Ireland here where Tipperary was. They chose this place because it was dry, had fresh water, and was in the middle of the biggest new island. Then the Union came and changed things. They created one Ireland with the capital up north. Unity is good, foreign control is not. Now this is just a small town again."

"How long have you lived here?" I ask, guessing he is from somewhere else.

"Coming on thirty years now. We came from the west, where the Irish are Irish, and we are proud to use our own language. I came here, to the capital at the time, to find a new life; I ended up fighting the Union when they invaded. I am fifty-six now, and the fight has been ground out of me. Life has not been easy for those of us who want independence. The Union has hunted us, forced us to hide, and killed families. I am a tired and lonely old man. It takes youth to fight an empire. I'm finished with rebellion, with the pain and the loss."

"What about Farrell Laughlin? Can you not fight with him? He asked for our help, we came to help. If we can get back to Panem we can get even more help."

He smiles a sad smile, almost in surrender, "Yours was a diplomatic mission. Two Senators and a beautiful woman. If they were serious, they would have sent more. No," he says, shaking his head, "there is no more help. … You were much younger when you fought in the rebellion. How much of a fighter are you now? You are older. You have children. The sensible thing to do is go home and forget about the Irish. Raise your children, love your husband."

I cannot give up. I don't think he quite understands the predicament we are in. We need Farrell Laughlin to get us home, and the loss of hope in this man is not something I can accept. If I do, I'll never see my family again. "Surely you have hope, you were willing to help us. You said you would arrange for us to meet Farrell Laughlin."

"You already have."

Shar almost chokes on her cup of water.

I look at her, thinking she should not drink so fast but I see she is staring wide-eyed at our host. I look at him, a little more closely than I have before, and an impossible thought flashes through my mind. I study the angles of his craggy, tanned face, the straight grey hair, the curve of his mouth. I look at the dark eyes, dark not only in colour. I have seen the face before, but not like this.

I shake my head. "No. No, you're sixty…"

"I told you, I'm fifty-six, Ms Everdeen."

"No, you can't be…"

"The vid you saw was recorded twenty-five years ago. I didn't ask for any Senators, Katniss, I asked for the Mockingjay."

I am speechless. All the blood drains away from my face. My eyes must look like his – empty, like glass. All the hopes of seeing Peeta and the children, of getting back to the safety of 12, of getting Shar home, they are all gone.

After a few seconds he continues.

"Farrell Laughlin. Now, that is a sad story. An idiot and a fool, he was. People around here call me Ciaran Cleary. It hides me from the Union. I'm kind of like Nua i mBaile Átha Cliath. You see, my real name, my Tipperary, is Farrell Laughlin."


	13. Chapter 13

Day 5 - Stranded

Shar wakes me when it is light. She has been very brave, thrown into a situation she did not ask for and never expected. I chose to be here. Not, perhaps, to be in the current situation, but I chose to come on this mission. She did not have a choice. In her hand is a mug of hot milk. Not spiced, but warm and comforting. It must have been difficult to make, no stove or oven, just a fire. And I wonder where the milk came from.

"Thank you so much Shar," I say. I sit up and take the mug, wrapping my hands around the warmth. "Is Farrell back?"

"No, not for the last hour."

After the events of last night, finding Farrell Laughlin, finding him 25 years older, we are both numb. I finish the milk and put it on the side table. Shar is sitting on the bed next to me, watching me, a question on her lips.

"What is it, Shar?" I ask.

"Who did this to us? Who shot down the craft? All my shipmates, they didn't deserve a death away from their families." There is a tear in her eye. She has been so brave in the last day, keeping herself calm and working with me when needed to stay together and escape the clearing. She did not know what the mission was about when we started and yet she has stayed focussed on survival.

I lean over and hug her. "You are right. It certainly was not an accident. I saw the rocket that hit the second craft. I do not know how we will work out what happened. The important thing is to focus on getting home. I know you want that and I am going to make it happen. Somehow. I promise."

She nods, wipes the tears from her eyes. "So what are we going to do now?"

"I don't know. We need to wait for Farrell and follow whatever plan he has. As he said last night, we need to get to the resistance and integrate with the people. Hide, lie low, find a way to escape, get home."

"How is he going to help us get home if he doesn't even have electricity?"

"I was thinking the same thing Shar. Maybe some of the other resistance members have access to a hovercraft."

"You were shocked by his age…," says Shar.

"Totally shocked. He made the vid when he was thirty. I cannot understand how the vid only got to us now. Who would have broadcast the vid twenty-five years after it was made?"

"He said last night he broadcast it twenty-five years ago though." Shar says.

"You are right. So someone sent it again or … or someone received and recorded it twenty-five years ago!" I say.

"So who did you get it from?" she asks.

"The Senate were given the vid by District 13."

"Otwa? Why didn't they come with us all the way to Ireland?"

"We did not trust them. They have a President, their own armed forces. There was a disarmament pact between all Districts. All forces were supposed to be centralised. We thought their motives for coming with us were suspect."

"Could they have followed us?"

"I do not see how, but then I do not know what technology there is. I saw things during the rebellion that surprised me. My friend Beetee made things that were amazing and very clever. So I do not know if they could follow us or not. There is also the Union…"

The Union? I heard Farrell mention the Union last night," says Shar.

"The vid that Farrell sent says that Ireland had been under the control of the Union for over a hundred years. The union sounds like they could be as advanced technically as Panem, if they are able to control a whole country. My guess is they spotted us and attacked us before we could find or meet Farrell Laughlin."

"Well, Farrell has managed to evade them for at least twenty-five years, I hope we can too," says Shar.

"Thank you Shar, thank you." I smile at her and give her a hug again. She really is amazingly strong. Her story is a hard one but she has come through it as a strong person, tempered like iron in the fire.

"Is there anything to eat?" I ask, realising I am hungry.

"Yes. Sorry, yes. I found food in the kitchen. Come on, I'll get two plates."

Three hours later, we are still waiting for Farrell when a clicking sound comes from the fireplace. Farrell must have come back through the tunnel. We walk into the living room, Shar a few steps behind me. I am about two metres from the hidden door when it opens outward and a man in a dark uniform and helmet steps up. He sees me and swings a rifle toward me. My District 13 combat training kicks in and I roll to his left, come up and punch him in the groin. He collapses with a groan. I hear a shout from behind me at the same time that I see another soldier in the tunnel pointing a rifle. I push the first soldier backward and as he falls on top of the next one, I snatch his rifle and then slam the door shut.

"Move! Outside! Now!"

Shar turns like a trained soldier and runs to the kitchen. I follow but knock over a small table, then a chair next to the dining table, but manage to keep my feet. We sprint outside and she points to the gate to the road. "Which way?" she shouts.

"Toward the town."

We turn right and run down the rough road, looking behind every few seconds to see if anyone is following. After a minute, there is a gap in the hedge to the left and we get off the road. I am out of breath already but we cannot stop. Where do we go next? Who is following us? I do not have time to find answers. We keep running toward the end of the field, alongside a crop of grain, staying close to the hedge for cover. Shar is running next to me when she lets out a sharp cry and falls forward. I think she has tripped on something until I smell ionisation. There are four soldiers at the entrance to the field; one is pointing a weapon at me. I glance down at Shar and see she is still. My instinct is to run and I do. The air ionizes behind me but I already ducking through the hedge and getting back on the road. I cross over and dive through the hedge on the other side and head left. The field on the other side is barren so I can run faster.

I turn at the end of the field and see two soldiers coming after me. I push through the hedge into another open field and then remember I am carrying the rifle. Moving to my right I find a spot in the hedge to half hide. The rifle has a basic mechanism that I think I can use. I shoulder the weapon and wait. The first soldier comes through the hedge and starts to run forward. When the second soldier comes through the hedge, I aim and shoot him. There is no recoil when I pull the trigger. A silent bolt of energy hits him and he grunts. The sound of him hitting the ground alerts the first soldier who rolls to the ground, turning at the same time. I am a good aim and the energy weapon does not need much accuracy. I shoot him first time even though he is on the ground. His head drops lifelessly.

The open field is too risky to run across so I move to my right again, staying close to the hedge. I pause at the corner, hunkering back into the hedge so I am not visible. If I turn right, the direction will lead back to the house. If I get to the next field then I can use the hedge for cover, turn left and head toward the town. I cannot stay hidden indefinitely in these fields. If I can get to town, I can probably find some clothes, even if I must break into a house. It may be better to find an empty building to hide in; wait until night comes to move.

The fact I am alone worries me. I do not know anyone here. How do I find the resistance? Shar! I promised I would get her home. I do not even know if she is alive. Could I take on the remaining soldiers? I have shot two, possibly disabled the one in the house. There are at least two more that I saw when they shot Shar. The realisation that I cannot abandon Shar makes up my mind.

I am breathing heavily but need to move. Turning right I run along the hedge back toward the house. If I can double back and get behind them then I may have a chance. No help is coming. Of that, I am sure. The shots we have fired are silent. No one will have heard them. Now I see the house ahead of me. I find a gate, which is easier than pushing through the hedges, then skirt around the far end of the house.

Stopping at the corner of the house, I listen for any noise. When I am convinced no one is here, I dash to the gate we originally went through to get to the road. Checking both directions frequently slows my progress but I need to be careful. At the gap in the hedge I belly-crawl with the rifle in front of me. There are two soldiers standing by Shar's body, looking away from me in the direction where the others originally followed me. It is about ten minutes since they shot Shar. I hope she is alive. Do I pray for her, as the people in her village did for her father? I would not know how.

It is lucky that they have not seen me. The rifle has a sight on top so I take my time, not knowing the maximum range of the weapon. I push the trigger, adjust aim, and push again. The two soldiers drop to the ground seconds apart.

I scramble off the muddy ground and run as fast as I can to where the three bodies lie. Shar is lying on her back. The soldiers must have turned her over. A pulse in her neck tells me she is alive. Obviously, the weapons have been set for stun. How do I get her up and away? As I think of a way to carry her, a fire spreads across my back, an intense pain that burns along every one of my nerves. A reflex to cry out fights with my will but I somehow win the fight. I feel myself falling forward. Despite thinking I need to, I cannot avoid falling on top of Shar and into darkness.


	14. Chapter 14

Day 6 - Prison

"My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am a citizen of Panem. We came across the sea in two hovercraft to meet a man called Farrell Laughlin."

"Farrell Laughlin died twenty-five years ago."

"Then we met a second Farrell Laughlin."

"And you were with him last night?"

"Yes."

"Who is your contact in the resistance?"

"I told you, we only knew the name of Farrell Laughlin."

"How many people were at the house?"

"Only one."

"How were you supposed to find the resistance?"

"Can I get some water?"

"Answer the question!"

"I've already told you everything I know. How many times are you going to ask the same questions?"

"We put an end to this when you tell us the truth."

I shake my head and close my eyes. Leaning back against the chair I tilt my head back for a bit before letting out a sigh, straitening up, and staring at him.

He gestures and one of the guards knocks on the door and calls out for something that I hope is water.

"What is your mission?"

"We came to meet Farrell Laughlin, he sent us a message twenty-five years ago, asking for assistance."

"Why did you wait twenty-five years?"

"Because we only received the message now."

A knock at the door alerts the guards to open the door. A guard brings me a mug of water. I take a long slow sip, keeping my eyes off the interrogator.

The interrogator is the officer in charge of this place. He is a plump, bald man with pale white skin and brown eyes staring out from under thick dark eyebrows, with a badly fitting uniform. The dark uniform is dressed up with ribbons, two stripes on the faux epaulettes, and a white belt. He does not sound the same as the local police officers and they appear to be fearful of him. His demeanour is less police officer and more enforcement officer. He shouts at the other men. His interrogation has been the same four or five times, asking the same questions, trying to confuse me, trying to say that Shar has contradicted me.

I decided when we first started that there was no point hiding anything so I told him everything that had happened. I told him who were, where we from, why we came here in the first place. There was no holding back on the explosions, even sharing the information about the rocket. Every detail was shared, even what we discovered about Farrell Laughlin. Perhaps that is what confused him, that I did not hide anything or lie about anything.

Our interrogation started yesterday after the soldiers brought us to the station. They started with Shar. They brought her back after an hour. She was obviously scared, tears welling in her eyes. Before I could say anything to her, they took me to a separate room where they questioned me for over an hour. Then the cycle repeated. It was Shar's turn again, after which they subjected me to the process again. Then they kept us awake for a long time, guarded, before finally giving us food and water and letting us sleep for two, maybe three, hours.

The conditions are uncomfortable at best. There are only two wooden benches in the cell, with one blanket for each as our only warmth. The high window lets in the cold. The concrete floor and walls offered no comfort and we had no ablutions. We slept on one blanket, covered by the other, huddled together to escape some of the cold. This morning, without any food, the process started again. We are both tired and cold, and not a little scared about what will happen to us.

The Senate were naïve to send us. None of this was expected or discussed in the Senate briefing, at least whilst I was there. Our leaders have little knowledge of the world outside Panem. What did we expect, sending two hovercraft to take on an empire? Were they realistic, expecting to sneak in and out? Would the Union have been able to enter Panem undetected?

The interrogator speaks out again, drawing my attention back.

"What was your role in the mission?"

"I am here to meet with Farrell Laughlin, as a negotiator."

"Why you?"

"I was part of the rebellion twenty-five years ago." The one thing I have left out is my role in the Panem rebellion, I doubt it he would see it in a positive light. Being part of the rebellion and being a leader in the rebellion are very different.

He stares at me for a while, so I stare back. I have stared down a President before, this man does not have the strength of will that Snow had, or the first President Coin. Jason Coin is different. There was something unsettling in his eyes, a malevolence. It was as if he was staring at my soul rather than at me. And there was something else, something personal. Snow understood people, understood that motivation differs for everyone, that there was no need to make things emotional. He saw it all in the bigger scheme. Although he was my enemy, I did respect him in some ways. I did not see the same thing in Jason Coin.

I continue to hold the officers gaze until he finally stands up abruptly, knocking his chair over behind him.

"Take her back to the cell," he orders, and leaves the interrogation room.

The police take me back to the cell. I see with relief that Shar is unhurt and still awake, despite it being hours since they broke our sleep. She unwraps herself from the two blankets and hands me one which I gratefully wrap around my shoulders. We sit on one of the benches.

"I am so sorry Shar, none of this should ever have happened to you. Did they hurt you?"

"I'm alright, I'm fine. They asked lots of questions but didn't hurt me. The army officer is quite mean but the policemen are quite friendly."

Now that she mentions it I realise her perception is accurate. They have been gentle when moving us between rooms. They brought food and water to us last night. The way the officer treats them is quite harsh but they have not acted the same way toward us, not taken it out on us.

"I need to sleep, the last two days have been draining, emotionally, physically, mentally," I say.

Shar nods agreement, too tired perhaps to respond any further. We lay down on the bench and try to get warm. I doze off, thinking of Peeta, Jewel and Stone.

I can hear people talking and I want to respond but I cannot for some reason. If only they would talk louder, I could hear. The voices are becoming clearer.

"He told us to wake them in an hour."

"I don't know what he is looking for. They have told us everything they are going to, or can."

"Johnson is looking for a way out of here; he wants a post back in England or somewhere more important. He wants Farrell. I bet he thinks that getting Farrell will get him a move away."

"Yeah… What are we going to do about it?"

"I can't tell you here. I wish you could speak Irish!"

"I'm just too old to learn now. My little ones are learning, our whole village took that decision to change the school, but it's too late for me."

"You stay here. I'll go do what's needed. We cannot let them be taken to the Rock."

I am awake now. The source of the voices are two of the police on the other side of the cell door. It is still difficult to understand the conversation. Why should they be doing something about the officer? Do they want to leave with him? Do they want to get recognition as well? It is difficult to follow without getting full context of what they said before. Shar is still asleep, so I lay still and stay warm next to her. It gives me time to think, laying there with only my thoughts now that the police have ended their conversation.

My challenge is working out how I get Shar and myself home. Farrell Laughlin does not appear to have the resources to get us home. He lives in an old farmhouse, hiding from the people with the power, living under a pseudonym. He does not have electricity, how could he have a craft that could get us home? Unless he has friends or colleagues that are in a better position. That seems unlikely to me. The resistance the interrogator mentioned have few resources, if they are hiding like Farrell.

The other option is to work with the authorities, the Union. Maybe I can turn our mission into a mission of discovery and friendship between Panem and the Union. That is probably what we should have done in the first place. Rather than send a hermit of a mother and two Senators who, in hindsight, were wrong for this mission, they should have sent a full diplomatic mission, with radios broadcasting our presence to the Union authorities. Can I get around what I said to the police officer? Twist it a little. I can say we came to meet Farrell Laughlin because we thought he represented the country. They have not seen the vid, they do not know it was a call for help against the Union. All I told them was that he asked for help. If I remember accurately, and that is difficult with the lack of sleep and recurring questions, then I have not mentioned the Union at all. If I can convince them that we do not support the resistance then they should want to create ties with Panem. If they do, then Shar and I can get home!

As soon as someone destroyed our hovercraft I dropped the concept that originally brought us here, to help Farrell Laughlin. Survival is now my priority. We no longer have any resources or strengths. We do not even have weapons. Our priority has to be returning home. Once there we can report to the Senate. They can send other people if that is their decision. They can forget about me coming back.

If I call the guards and ask for an audience with the officer I may be able to convince him to contact the Union, wherever that is. It will be better to initiate the conversation, rather than waiting for them to come back to us and possibly use stronger questioning methods. I shiver, not from the cold, but from the memory of Peeta's ordeal in the Capitol, when Snow hijacked him. The mental scars remain to this day, a quarter century later.

My poor Peeta. Was my reaction to the Capitol justified? Maybe I should have given him the benefit of doubt. Can I believe that he was involved with another woman? He said he was not, that it was just a charade and the way people there acted. If he is innocent then he was caught between two worlds, trying to keep a balance between them. And all that time he had to fight his inner demons as well. I should have stopped and listened to him more, taken time to observe more. Should we have moved to the Capitol? No. I still believe it was right to keep the children away from that place.

I am still trying to work out how to approach the officer, talk to him about getting to the Union leaders, when someone unlocks the door of the cell. Shar is startled awake by the noise and tries to sit up behind me, so I sit up as well.

"Come on, you with the dark hair, Captain Johnson wants to see you," says the guard.

I get up and Shar grabs my hand, telling me with her eyes to be careful. I nod and walk through the door. The guard locks the cell door and he and his colleague escort me to the interrogation room again.

Captain Johnson is sitting on his chair facing so I take the other. He waves to the two guards to leave which they do, closing the door behind them. There have always been at least two people in the room with me. Now that I am alone, I wonder if he means to use more than questions on me. I am suddenly scared.

"I need to ask you a few more questions, and then you will be relocated to another facility. I need to report your presence. If I wait any longer then there may be questions about the delay. You need to cooperate now, give me any information that will help your cause. I can protect you, but you need to help me. Understand?"

I nod with some relief. I also understand more than he thinks. The guard's words echo in my mind. Johnson needs to be a hero. He cannot protect me. He is probably too junior. However, he can give enough information to his superiors. They will get the right people involved. The question is what to tell him that I have not already.

"Where is the resistance?"

"I swear I do not know. We came here to meet a person called Farrell Laughlin. There was no way for us to know, if what you say is true, that he was part of a resistance movement. We just wanted to meet a new people, see how we could trade, for mutual benefit. Panem has been isolated for so long; we were very excited to meet new people. We came as a diplomatic mission. We did not come to make war, or find a resistance. If I could just speak to your leaders, I could explain it all and set up talks. We have so much to give, to trade with."

There is an angry look in his eyes. He shakes his head, then stands and walks to the door. Why is a person from another place not of interest to him? All he cares about is the resistance.

"If you want to catch the, what do you call it, resistance, maybe you should send us back to where we were. If the man called Farrell Laughlin comes back, you can follow us to the resistance, if they exist."

"It's too late. You have been gone too long. The resistance will suspect a trap if you go back. Capturing someone from the resistance would have been my ticket out of here. People from Panem? That is old news. Guards, take her back."

The guards take me back to Shar. When the door is closed, she hands me a blanket. As I wrap myself, I tell her about the interview.

"Is that exactly what he said?" Asks Shar.

"Yes, _People from Panem? That is old news_. We thought we were the first to come here but that is obviously not true. The only thing I can think is that Snow and his cronies must have come across here at some stage. Perhaps they did received the message 25 years ago. I don't know, this is all so surreal, I don't know what to think."

We lapse into silence, sitting as usual on the cold hard sleep bench, looking at the stone walls. It is starting to get darker, late afternoon, when there are footsteps in the corridor. Captain Johnson enters the cell and beckons for me to stand up. Shar stands with me.

"So, you didn't tell me you were so important, Miss Everdeen. You left out a very important part of your history, didn't you! The Mockingjay. _Involved_! More than involved I would say!"

He walks toward us, the menace of him suddenly looming large. It looks like he wants to strike at me but something clicks in him and he turns away.

"The Commander at Cashel says they are looking for you. They want to know why I did not send a report yesterday. I knew you were going to be trouble for me."

"You are to leave at once; we will take you to Cashel."

"Why Cashel? What is there?"

"The Rock is at Cashel. They aren't as nice as we are," he says. "When they are finished with you, you will wish you had cooperated here!"

He walks toward the door and two of the local guards come in with shackles. They place shackles on me but not Shar. Why are they only taking me?

"What about Shar?"

"She stays. We can do what we want with her," says the officer.

"No! No, she has to come with me; she doesn't know anyone else here. She needs to stay with me!" I am shouting now. I step toward her and she grabs my hand and holds it as tight as she can.

"Katniss!" she says with a quavering voice.

The guards are trying to separate us so she puts her arms around me.

"You cannot separate us! We need to stay together!" I say to Captain Johnson.

Captain Johnson steps back, pushes a guard out the way and pulls me by the arm. When Shar does not let go he hits her hard on the side of her head. She drops to her knees with a moan. He drags me away from Shar. I scream, then lunge forward but he hits me too, knocking me down. Dazed and sore, my ear throbbing and ringing, I cannot resist as he pulls me from Shar.

"Take her, now!" He shouts at the guards, who are standing shocked by the violence. The two guards lift me by the arms and half-drag me to the door. I am too dazed to resist. I turn back and see the officer standing over Shar.

"No." It is more a whisper than a word. He looks at me and then follows us out the cell.

I regain the ability to walk but not much else. The guards escort me to a small truck similar to the ones the peacekeepers used in Panem. The shackles consist of metal cabling linking my wrists and waist, limiting my movement so that escape will be difficult.

"Wait! Why are you not using the bus?" Captain Johnson is standing in the lit doorway.

"It is broken, something with the axle. We have to use this one," says the guard with the thicker accent.

"Take the second vehicle as support. I want a fast run to Cashel, they are expecting her."

The guard nudges me forward to the steps of the truck. As I start up the first step, he catches my right arm. "I suggest you sit on the right … It is a more comfortable ride."

He pushes my arm forward and I step up into the rear cabin. There are three seats either side of the cabin, facing each other. I take the last one on the right. An army guard enters behind us and fastens the seat straps so that we cannot stand.

"Do what they tell you, they'll look after you," he whispers, and exits the vehicle, waits for the vehicle guard to enter, and then locking the door behind him. The guard in the vehicle has a white suit, so much like the peacekeepers who strong-armed the rest of us for Snow. He buckles up in the seat opposite me

The truck starts moving without warning, knocking us sideways before jerking us back upright. I watch through the solitary window at the back of the cabin as the guard stands watching us drive away. The shackles make it very difficult to keep balance. The two of us sway and bounce around. After a few minutes I start understanding how to respond to each random movement, conducting a seemingly synchronised seated dance with the guard opposite.

The guard is silent. It is possible he does not speak our language. He takes his helmet off and places it on the seat nearest the door. I see him look me up and down, so I shake my head. He takes the hint and closes his eyes. In a few moments he seems to fall asleep.

Did I really hear the whisper? What did he mean?_ Do what they tell you, they'll look after you. _The way he said it was conspiratorial. It was non-threatening, almost comforting. I also doubt sitting on the right is more comfortable, or the guard would have sat next to me.

Shar's look of terror is exactly how I feel. I promised I would look after her, that I would get her home. I am in an unknown place with no friends or allies. I have an urge to comfort her, tell her we will be fine. Despite the emotional, physical and mental stress of the past two days I will not abandon hope of getting back to her.

I do not know how I will get back to her but she is my responsibility, and I feel a determination building in me. I will get back to her. I stare at the guard, wondering how I can escape. I'll have to get past him and out the truck.

The interior is bleak, lacking any interesting detail. I check the door but cannot see a handle. There is no way to open it from the inside.

I sit trying to work out how to escape but all the ideas come to nothing. Kill the guard … I don't have a weapon. Strangle him … My arms are shackled. Get my arms free … There is no key. If I do get free I won't be able to open the door. Bang on the wall and wait for the driver to open the door, then attack him. The ideas start to repeat, and the same things keep stopping them from sounding feasible. Shackles, guard, door. I do not even get to navigating back.

We travel along narrow hedge-lined roads, sometimes fast and sometimes slow as we pass through small villages. It must be about an hour since we left when suddenly I see the guard's body jerk against the rocking. His head whips backward and his torso lurches forward, a moment before I feel my seatbelt hit my stomach. There is a crunching sound as the wall behind the guard caves in and the whole cabin starts to roll over. The guard is higher than I am, eyes opening is shock. The cabin keeps rolling and I am upside down, then above the guard. Something hard hits me on the forehead, a thundering blow that start the ringing in my ears again.

The rolling stops with a sudden stop and I feel the truck bounce a few times. The seatbelt has held me in place and I can already feel the bruising of my waist where it strains against me. The guard's helmet rolls onto my left foot. There is blood on it. From my forehead I think.

There has been an overwhelming roar after the initial massive crunch but now everything is quiet. The guard is flopped over forward in his seat, unconscious. I think he hit his head on the wall behind him as it is up against the back of his chair.

The door at the back rattles and I see a head look into the back window. All I can see are eyes, cloth covers the rest of the face and head. It disappears and we hear banging noises, metal on metal. The banging stops followed by the door opening. A person steps up into the cabin and lifts the head of the guard. The head drops back down lifeless when the person releases it.

"When you are free step out and go right. Follow the directions of the person there. Do not talk." The accent is thick, it is difficult to understand the words but now I know it is a man. The man is undoing my buckle, struggling to do so with gloves on. Then I am free, still shackled but able to half stand.

"Out! Fast!" my rescuer urges.

I make it to the door and start down the step. A hand steadies me so I jump to the floor. Doing so is a mistake. I feel disoriented; my head is throbbing due to the blow from the helmet. The shackles make it impossible to keep my balance and I fall to my knees.

The two men help me up and hold me upright as we run to a large truck where they help me up onto the tray. One of them joins me. The engine makes two false starts then roars into life. After a few back and forward manoeuvres, the truck moves off in the direction from where it came.

My mystery companion is saying something to me. The hood muffles his voice and that, added to the accent, makes it hard to understand what he is saying. Eventually he pulls me into a sitting position and starts undoing the shackles. The man throws the shackles as far as he can over the side of the truck and I see them arc away behind and to the left of the vehicle.

When the shackles are off I realise how much they have contributed to my discomfort. My wrists are bruised and sore, my shoulder muscles are stiff from the restriction of movement. The design of the shackles has made me hunch forward and my back is aching between the shoulders.

"Lie down," I think I hear him say so I comply.

Then I definitely hear him say, "You are safe now, we've got you."

The hooded man covers us with a tarpaulin. It is uncomfortable lying on the truck bed when the truck is bouncing along a rough road. The tarpaulin emits an odour, a mix of chemicals and dust. It is slimy to the touch. It is here, under the nauseating fumes and heavy weight of the tarpaulin that I finally surrender to the emotional, physical and mental stress and burst into tears.


	15. Chapter 15

Resistance

Two hours after the journey started, we arrive at our destination. Two hours of emotional release, clearing my mind and decide what my priorities are. Priority one: free Shar. Priority two: return home to my family.

Although my own desire is to return home, I cannot leave Shar behind. I desperately want to end this nightmare and get back to my husband and children. I want to tell them how much they mean to me, how much they fill my life with happiness. It isn't a bubbly, momentary burst of happiness. It is a quiet happiness, a happiness felt deep down. The kind of happiness you get from an undeniable knowledge that your family is always on your side, they always want the best for you. They will always be there. Something I cannot say I have done for them. I want to tell them that too. I want to tell them that I know I haven't supported them enough, but I want to.

The truck comes to a halt; the engine coughs a few times and dies. The masked man pushes the tarpaulin off us then vaults over the back of the truck. The truck is under a broad canvas awning. It is open on three sides and attached to a house on the fourth.

My tarpaulin companion and the driver enter the house through a low door so I follow, but only after landing heavily when I jump off the truck. Being in a motionless position for two hours has left me stiff and my knees lock when I hit the ground.

I hobble into the house to find the two men have removed their hoods. They look so similar they must be father and son. They could be from the Seam, they have the same dark hair, pale skin, light eyes. The older man is older than I am but looks fit and healthy. The younger man is stoking a fire in a pot-stove. A kettle sits on top of it.

The room is just like the kitchen in Farrell's farmhouse. No electricity, rudimentary equipment. There are some light fittings on the wall but candles light the room. The furniture is strong farm furniture, not the delicate creations you see in the Capitol. It reminds me of 12, of making paltry meals when I was young, watching my mother and Prim healing Gale when he was whipped by the Commander, baking with Peeta and the children at our home.

I take a chair by a table. I sit quietly as the son heats a beverage and the father cuts some bread on which he slaps butter and cheese. They do not say anything for a few minutes.

"You want cha?" asks the young man.

"Better to give her some mead, then some cha to follow," says the father without turning.

The son walks to a cupboard and brings out a small delicate glass, totally conspicuous in this setting. He also has a bottle of pale yellow liquid, which he uses to fill the glass before setting it on the table.

"What is it?" I ask, a little wary of the drink.

"It's mead. Mead … honey wine. It'll help relax you a bit, take the edge off. You've been through a lot … Don't worry, we won't hurt you. You're safe here. They won't find you."

He turns away, fetches some handle-less mugs from a cupboard, and goes back to the stove where the kettle is showing signs of boiling. He starts making other, hot, drinks.

The older man comes over with a large plate full of food.

"Drink the mead, then you can have some food. You must be hungry."

I pause, still not sure, then take the small glass and drink it quickly, scared a little of what it will taste like. It is surprisingly sweet and a little spicy, and leaves a pleasant after-taste. It is nothing like Haymitch's fire-water, I am sure he would like this.

The older man sits down with me and we start eating in silence. The younger man brings three mugs of a milky beverage and joins us for the meal. They don't say anything for a few minutes. I start feeling a little uncomfortable.

"I'm Katniss. Katniss Everdeen. … Thank you for rescuing me."

They both nod and carry on eating.

"Are you friends of Farrell Laughlin?"

The older man glances at me, "It's best to leave some names alone."

That kills any conversation in me. I sit in silence with them. Finally, the older man say, "The others will be here tomorrow. We have a place for you to sleep."

"Thank you. What about my friend? Shar. She is still in the prison."

"That is for the others to decide."

"But they will…"  
"She will be alright. It was you they wanted."

"But if I'm gone..."

"Mrs Everdeen, we cannot do anything now. We wait 'til morning."

His tone is even, his demeanour is so calm and lacks any excitement, his words suggest a finality and it is hard to argue with him.

"I am Aidan, this is my nephew Ailin. We will look after you until the others decide what to do with you. Until then you need to be patient. As I said, there's a spare bedroom. It is a little rough but it is clean and warm, as befits a lady. Have another glass of mead, it will help you sleep."

Ailin pours another glass for me.

"What about you?"

"We won't have any, we need to stay alert for the night."

"I thought you said we were safe…"

"As safe as can be in Ireland, but we don't relax. There's always the possibility of spy-planes. If something does happen we'll help you, we have ways to stay hidden. Drink up, it's late now."

I finish the mead and savour the taste before drinking the cha. It is a milky, strong, bitter drink. It is a little like the herbal teas Granny Sae makes but stronger, and the milk changes it so that it is more satisfying, better than the coffee Peeta likes but I could never drink. I still prefer my hot chocolate.

I want to talk about rescuing Shar but, after the last comments, I decide it is a fight I cannot win. Pick the targets you can hit, my father always told me. This is not one to pick. Aidan's words about time have also highlighted my exhaustion, that I do need sleep.

Ailin shows me to my room and it isn't long before, fully clothed, I fade into the deepest sleep I have had in days.


	16. Chapter 16

Day 7 - Allies

We have a breakfast of boiled eggs and more of the thick farm bread. It is as quiet as the meal last night. Is it just during meals, or do these two rarely speak? My instinct tells me they don't talk much at all. Then again, my instinct that they were father and son was wrong. At least I was right that they are related.

Outside it is misty and a cool, not as cold as it would be back in 12. Ailin brings me an oversized jacket to wear. We are almost done when a voice outside calls for anyone inside. Aidan nods at Ailin and then carries on eating so I copy him. Ailin goes outside and after a minute returns, followed by an older man.

"Some cha? Breakfast?" offers Aidan, rising from the table to shake the man's hand.

"Some cha, thank you," says the newcomer, and takes his hat off.

It takes me a few seconds before I recognise Farrell Laughlin. The sight of a familiar face makes me jump up and step across to hug him. He lifts his arms belatedly and returns my hug. I hold the embrace longer than I should.  
I don't know why, I hardly know the man, but his presence calms me, makes me feel closer to home. The thought that he has managed to co-ordinate a rescue gives me hope that I can return home, that we can also rescue Shar. It feels so long ago, after the two days of maltreatment in the prison, it is hard to distinguish between Ireland and Panem.

Aidan coughs and proffers a mug of cha, so I let go and return to my seat.

"Where are the Connors?" asks Farrell.

"You're the first to arrive, Ciaran," says Aidan. I remember Farrell's new name is Ciaran. This is going to be confusing.

"The Connors?" I ask. It sounds like a family.

"Connor O'Kane and Connor Rourke."

"Did you run out of names in Ireland?" My attempt at humour falls flat, six eyes look at me coldly.

They are two of the resistance leaders,' says Farrell. "When they arrive we can decide what course of action to take.

"We need to rescue Shar," I say. "We cannot leave her in that prison."

"Like I said, we will decide when the others are here."

"Is everything in Ireland done so slowly?" I ask. It is not fair, but the longer we wait the more likely they will move Shar.

"Miss Everdeen, first you should be considering yourself lucky to be free. Second, if you want to rescue her I can point you in the right direction and you can go now. If you want our help, I suggest you let us help you in our own way. There's no point being hasty." Farrell is quiet but firm, like Aidan last night, so I stop talking.

The silence is now uneasy, thanks to me. The men move off to clean up after breakfast and then start other chores. Ailin goes out first, donning his jacket as he goes. Aidan and Farrell follow and I hear them talking as they walk away from the door.

I follow outside to look around. We are on a farm. I can see a stone wall running along a road that I can see through a wooden gate and a hedge running away from it on my left. The place is very similar to Farrell's other farm. Even the house looks similar, except for the canvas awning attached to the house, hiding the truck.

I feel the mist, tiny cold spots landing on my face and covering my hair with an almost invisible layer of moisture. The mist is definitely thinning although I see no chance of the sun making an appearance today. I walk away toward the road to have a look.

"Stay inside, we don't want you seen. It's a small village here, but not all can be trusted." Farrell has walked toward me. Aidan is no longer in sight. "I'll keep you company for a while. The Connors shouldn't be long. Cha?"

"Hot chocolate?"

"Not partial to our brew, heh? Sorry, no chocolate here. The Union doesn't allow much trade, we have to be self-sufficient in Ireland. Only the Union officials here have foreign goods. For a long time cha was a luxury, it was hard to import it. We are lucky that some farmers further east started growing the tea plants in special hothouses. Made of glass, the buildings are, to keep the plants warm. They are national heroes." He laughs at his own words, a quiet remorseful laugh. I wonder if he is envious, envious that he is not a national hero. Or, perhaps, it is more regret than envy.

"Cha then, to drink to the heroes." This time his laugh is more jovial.

In the kitchen once more, with hot cha in our mugs I ask Farrell to tell me his story.

"My story? It's not much of a story. Stories need a good ending, mine is just failure." He stares into his mug for a minute, so I sit quietly waiting. If I am to make it home, and rescue Shar on the way, I will need this man's help. I will need to stay on his good side. No more bad jokes.

"I grew up in the west of Ireland, in a wealthy family. We were unaffected by the Water Wars, not like people in the north and east. We were proud Irish people. Despite our island shrinking and separating due to the rising seas, we knew how to survive, how to share, how to be happy."

"The Union took over when I was fifteen. Our people were so tired of war; the Union came in with little resistance. They took over the government, issued statements of how it was good for the country, how Ireland would benefit. For a time nothing really changed. Life just carried on. Every now and then, someone would protest against the Union, but nothing came of the isolated protests. People didn't see any difference in their daily lives."

"Then someone started a radio station. Éire an chéad they called it. Ireland First. It was an unlicensed radio station. Few knew where it was, or even who was running the broadcasts. However, it was Irish, there was no Union message every hour. Just young people playing Irish music and talking independence. The station became very popular and stirred nationalism. It changed frequency often, as the Union tried to block the signal, but we always found it."

"I went to University in the capital, studying to be a lawyer. Many students were idealistic, young people who opposed the Union-controlled government. Not me, I was only interested in finishing my studies and going home. Politics didn't interest me at all."

He pauses, looks up at me, and then looks at the floor, sadness in every aspect of him.

"I met my wife at University. My wife was a fighter. Well, she wasn't my wife then, we only married later. She had enough passion for the both of us. You remind me of her, in looks and the way you carry yourself. There is a difference though; you hide your passion whereas everyone knew how she felt. She was not afraid to be herself."

"What was her name?" I ask, ignoring this man's strangely accurate assessment of me. He does not know the reasons though, or that I am happy living a quiet life back in 12.

"We all called her Becca, or Becs. She was a journalism student. In hindsight, it was obvious that students ran Éire an chéad. All the voices were young and they had the skills. Becca was involved, but not in the protests. She was smart; she stayed away from public display. When other members wanted to start a vid-channel Becca refused. She said it was dangerous to show the faces of the broadcasters."

"The Union changed the court system so there was no need for lawyers. Government officials took over everything. There was no point continuing my studies. I didn't want to move back to the west, I wanted to stay with Becca. She was my love. So I used some of my family's money and bought a small farm."

"I worked the farm whilst Becca finished her studies. We married when she graduated and she started working for the government in the broadcast department. It was against her political beliefs but she thought she could make a bigger impact from inside the system."

"The puppet government was based in Nua i mBaile Átha Cliath. Orders come from the Union. Using what she found out from inside the broadcast department, Becca provided information to Éire an chéad. The information helped spur on the people to speak about independence."

"People started open protest against the puppet government so the government send troops from the north to replace the local Garda who were sympathetic to the protesters and loathe to arrest their own people. The Union split the people by offering land to the English-speaking people in the crowded north and east."

I stop him for a moment, "What is the Garda?"

"The Garda? They are our police force," he says. "They used to be there to serve the people, now they just enforce Union laws."

I nod, knowing the difference between the two types of police. The difference between Cray, who was immoral but not heavy-handed, and Commander Thread, who led a campaign of terror in District 12, was a catalyst for Gale and me.

"The Union were hunting frantically for Éire an chéad but Becca kept giving the broadcasters warning. They moved the equipment frequently to avoid capture, sometimes at a few minutes' notice. More and more people joined the secret resistance."

"A protest turned violent and when the protesters killed some Union-friendly officials, the Union deployed troops from Poland. The new troops were ruthless. They burnt houses, arrested and tortured people. A family of five died during a search. The killing enraged the population, even the people in the north."

"Armed resistance increased and the Union started a curfew. One day a resistance pod captured a Union base using a helicopter. The Union pulled all troops out and started dropping bombs. The results were devastating. No one died. The bombs were EMF bombs. I don't know how they work, but all electronics stopped working where the bombs dropped, including vehicles. They shut the power generators as well."

"Suddenly everything was gone. Fresh water, electricity. Industry was destroyed. Farming went back three hundred years. We managed to adjust quickly and harvested some of the crops in that first year. Then we adjusted our crop selection. Manual implements, horses and cows instead of tractors. For a time the Union brought in food to help but soon we had no money to buy anything, the banks had been left without money, the computers were all useless."

"Of course, Éire an chéad went silent. They managed to source new equipment from England but there was no one to listen, all the radio receivers were dead from the EMF bombing."

"They didn't need a broadcast department in Ireland anymore so they shut it down. Printed newspapers came from outside the country. Becca decided to move there to carry on her work from the inside. Of course, I followed."

There is a clanking noise from outside. Farrell stops talking and walks over to the door to see what is happening. "They are fixing the truck. The front is slightly damaged from the impact when they rammed the prison van."

"It was very brave of them. I haven't really thanked them."

"No need, they have lost family of their own. They do what they can to exact some revenge."

He sits back down at the table with me.

"So Becca went to England. I didn't know what I would do there but I went with. I found a job through Becca operating a camera, taking propaganda pictures for the newspapers. After a while I started doing vids for propaganda in other countries."

"We worked diligently so that we did not arouse suspicion, but all the time we were feeding information back to the resistance in Ireland. The situation was different back in Ireland. With the loss of our way of life many people had given up resistance. I did too, but not Becca. She was determined to find a way to expel the Union."

"We were in England for four years. One day she called me in to her office. She was managing a department by then. She definitely was the smart one. What she showed me that day affected us both deeply. It was footage of the rebellion in Panem, and that is when I first saw you, the Mockingjay."

"You saw?" I am shocked, they knew about us all along!

"Yes. Not everyone, only the privileged few knew of Panem. The elite who controlled the Union. We were just lucky that Becca had risen so high in the department."

"We watched you and Peeta, on opposite sides. We watched the Capitol propaganda."

His comment stirs ignored pain, of the hijacking, of the torture Peeta went through, of my own torment.

"Becca found recorded footage of the Hunger Games, both of them. It was recorded for entertainment amongst the Union elite. It made Becca more determined to rid Ireland of our overlords."

"We witnessed the war being won. It was uplifting, but it was a tragedy too. All the people that died. Becca was especially moved the day your sister died." He pauses when he looks into my eyes.

"I'm sorry. So sorry. I know that is painful for you."

I nod. Even now I have a sense of loss. Primrose, the best of us all. My sweet, healing sister.

"I understand your pain, because the day of my loss was coming. I understand pain that last twenty-six years."

We stare at each other. I almost know what he is going to tell me and I see the pain in his eyes, this lonely man in front of me.

"You want a break?" I ask.

He looks at the old clock on the wall and nods. "Perhaps we should see to lunch."

All this time Aidan and Ailin have been outside working. I go outside with Farrell to find they have almost finished repairing the truck's dents. Ailin is doing the bulk of the work, whilst Aidan assists with smaller tasks. I notice now that he has a limp. Was there an accident? I remember what Farrell said about family loss. Perhaps it was something more sinister.

The two of them put down their tools and move inside to wash and prepare for lunch. I want to help but Farrell insists I sit whilst he makes the lunch. There is little conversation. Farrell is not in the mood to talk and our hosts are always quiet. The only time I have heard Ailin talk was when we were on the back of the truck after my rescue. I decide to break the silence.

"I haven't said thank you for rescuing me."

The two of them nod their heads.

"Anything to fight the Union," says Aidan.

Despite him brushing off my thanks, I sense some pride in his tone. Sometimes the small victories can be the most satisfying.

Farrell looks up at the clock and says something in Irish. Aidan gives a short answer.

"What?" I ask. I want to tell them they need to speak English so I can understand but I hold my tongue.

Farrell looks apologetic. "We are just wondering where the Connors are. O'Kane and Rourke. They should both have been here already. Aidan isn't that worried though. He is probably right, they both are experienced enough to make sure they are not seen. We cannot travel in the open after an event like last night. There will be drones out, and Garda. We'll wait until night, give them some time."

Aidan and Ailin leave the house again. I help Farrell clean up and this time he doesn't protest. As we work he starts telling me more of his story.

"The day of Snow's execution was a terrible day for me. It started well enough, but it started a sequence of events … It was late at night. Becca and I watched you in her office. You were so pale, a wild look in your eye. Sad. Fierce. Determined. You took matters into your own hands, regardless of the consequences. You were acting for freedom, not to replace a President."

He stares at me, and we both know the same thing. Becca understood me, what I was doing, what I was feeling. I feel a bond with her, even though she is not here.

"Becca was inspired. She said it was time for us to go back, to start a proper rebellion. It was time to fight. We had learnt so much about the Union, about how it worked, the people, the technologies. We had access to enemy information; we could help Ireland be free."

"We were so naive. Fuelled by hope, we collected equipment we thought would help us start a true rebellion. Enough to fill a small helicopter we had access to through my work. We didn't have weapons but we had an electricity generator, computers, a vid projector, an anti-EMF canopy."

He pauses, looks out the small window in front of the sink where he is washing the dishes. It must be difficult telling me all of this. It is 26 years ago but he remembers events so clearly, it is as if he is watching a vid of his life and describing it to me. Or, perhaps, he has thought about it every day of his life, so that it still is a fresh memory.

"We headed straight to the capital. I told her to wait but Becca was insistent, she wanted to speak to the other leaders immediately. Taking a vid-player, she went on alone. I went to the farm to hide the 'copter and equipment. The 'copter I hid in the pit under the barn. We already had tunnels built, so I hid the equipment in one and covered it with the anti-EMF canopy. It's a good thing I did, or I would never have been able to send you the message."

"Then I waited."

He sits back at the table so I follow. I cannot escape the sadness in his eyes. The depth of it is infectious.

"Do you want to take a break?"

"No. No, I don't think we will have time once the others arrive. I don't know what will happen when they do. Best you hear everything now. So you understand why you are here."

He stares out the window again.

"I never saw Becca again. Her brother didn't know where she was, none of her friends at the University knew either. She just disappeared."

"That is when I started hating the Union. Before that night I had been supporting Becca, my love. Now, they had taken her from me. That night I decided to fight, to take my revenge, to make them pay for taking her away from me."

"I used my family's money to buy two farms next to mine. Some people joined me and we set up our headquarters. We extended the tunnels to hide activity. But there weren't enough of us. People were scared. They still remembered the last time there was resistance."

"The Union would fight back. There would be house raids, imprisonment, curfews. Fear kept people at home."

"The group kept together for four months. A crazy four months that went from hope and rallying of support to loneliness and hunger. I ran out of funds. People needed to eat. They went back to their lives."

"I made a decision, to risk all to send a message to Panem. One day I recorded a vid and then set the equipment, hidden in one of the other farmhouses with a large bank of batteries, to loop the broadcast. The broadcast stopped when the batteries ran flat. They never found the equipment; it is under an EMF screen to this day."

"There was no answer. Not from Panem and not from the enquiries I made about Becca. Then the Union came looking for me. They knew who I was because I had been working for them and just disappeared, along with Becca. I changed my name to Ciaran Cleary and started working as a farmer."

"And that is my story, Katniss."

I watch him, imagining emotion raging under the stony visage.

"Do you have any regrets?"

"Regrets? About what?"

"About the rebellion not working."

"No, no regrets. I do have hope though. I will find Becca."

….

"Can you stop staring at me?"

We are all sitting in the kitchen, eating by candlelight. The two Connors arrived during the afternoon. After introductions the men went off for a hushed conversation without me. After that they prepared dinner and we all sat down to eat.

Now Connor Rourke is staring at me. Probably at my scars and missing hair. It wouldn't be the first time someone didn't have enough manners to be discreet about my appearance. Most people in 12 are used to the damage caused by the firestorm that scarred us on the outside and destroyed me on the inside when I saw my sister engulfed in a caustic flash of death. I usually cover the scars well with my clothing, although the discolouration around my neck and wrists is often visible. Most people don't see the bald patches on the back of my head as I wear my hair long, but sometimes sudden movements expose the area, or if I sit near them for a while, they will notice a patch under the hair.

Connor Rourke looks me straight in the eye, and with what seems absolute honesty, says, "Now why would I want to stop looking at something so beautiful?"

I blush but luckily, in the weak light, he cannot see. Surely he can see my scars. It has been a long time since someone told me I am beautiful. Even Peeta. I force my retort, "because I will put an arrow through you if you don't."

The others react immediately with some laughing, a whoaw, and some choking on food.

Connor Rourke doesn't stop looking direct into my eyes with his pale grey-green eyes that almost shine at me like torches. He is a handsome man with a strong square jaw; dark hair cut an inch short. I am not sure if I like him staring or not, but I am uncomfortable either way. He stares at me, just as Peeta used to.

He laughs. "Well, then you'd be joining Cupid, he already shot one through my heart."

The other men, except for Connor O'Kane, are laughing and watching me for a reaction. I'm not sure who Cupid is, but it sounds like he means he's smitten.

"Cupid can't be a good shot, if I shot you your heart wouldn't be beating anymore."

The others look back to Connor.

"Nothing could stop my heart beating with such beauty present."

And they look at me.

"I'm a married woman."

"That never stopped him," says Aiden with a smirk on his face.

More laughing and slapping the table and shoulders echo in the small space, but I try to ignore the spectators.

"Well, you obviously haven't met any real women yet."

"Their warm kisses were real enough to me."

"Bring those lips near me and I'll slice them off."

"That's enough." Farrell interjects before Connor Rourke can say anything else. "We need to be serious for a bit."

Connor nods, and bites into his bread. He keeps the smile on his face as he chews and gives me a wink. The others quiet down although a snigger escapes Ailin. I'm surprised by Aiden and Ailin. They have been so serious and quiet, but they have been laughing the hardest, at my expense. Connor O'Kane has been fairly subdued and serious the whole time. He sits hunched, a short, thin man with an angry look to him, as if the world owes him something but hasn't paid up yet. His black eyes stare out from a bushy beard that is too large for his body.

Farrell looks around the table at each person before speaking again. "We need to decide what we are going to do. The Union will be angry that we destroyed their van, even more so because one guard is dead and the proximity to Cashel. People would have seen the wreck this morning. They don't like evidence of resistance."

"We are far enough away, they won't find us here," says Connor Rourke.

"They could have spotted the truck with a spy-plane," says Connor O'Kane. He seems nervous, highly-strung.

"No, they would have been here this morning if that was the case. The planes will be out now, so anything else we do needs to be done with care," says Connor Rourke.

"We must decide what to do," says Farrell, sticking to his original point.

"We rescued her, why is she now our responsibility? Nothing is going to come from this but trouble. We take her back to the place you found her and let her make her own plans." Connor O'Kane looks defiantly at the others but doesn't look at me once.

"She came her to help us. She came a long way. I do not think that is the right thing to do. If she is captured there is no telling what will happen to her," Farrell says.

"She isn't worth the risk, we could all be captured if she is found here, or anywhere with one of us," Connor O'Kane's voice is starting to take on a shrill tone.

"We could take her west, to one of the smaller islands. Hide her there," says Farrell, "place her with a friendly family."

"Why can't she stay her with us for the moment, they won't find her. They never do house searches. If we keep her hidden, when things normalise we can make further decisions," suggests Connor Rourke.

"I'm not looking after her, you can take it on. I'm sure your motivation is more than just hiding her…" says O'Kane.

"My name is Katniss! I'm sitting right here, stop talking like I'm not!"

They sit silent, taken aback.

"Sorry Katniss, you are right, maybe we should take a step back." He turns to the others. "Katniss came here with others to help us. She flew across the sea from the west. Both the craft exploded so she has no way home. I assume you want to go home Katniss..."

"No."

"No?" Farrell is surprised again. "You cannot help fight the Union on your own, you have nothing but your clothes."

"No, I do want to go home, but first we need to rescue Shar from the prison at, at that town we were held…"

"New Dub…" says Connor Rourke.

"Are you crazy? We cannot rescue her. I'll help take you west. Maybe you can find a boat from one of the small villages, sail home. But there will be no attacking the prison for another of your kind." Connor O'Kane is standing and shaking his hand at me, index finger extended. "Besides which, there are not enough of us to attack the Garda station."

"Why not? There are six of us, plus the two guards in the prison."

O'Kane turns to Farrell, close to bursting. "Did you tell her? How does she know about them? She is too much of a risk, we need to end this!"

"I worked it out for myself, no-one told me!" I am standing now, reducing O'Kane's domineering posture.

"Farrell! This is too much to ask for a total stranger! How do we even know she is legitimate."

Connor Rourke stands up as well. "Connor, calm down man. She is legitimate, listen to her voice. There is no risk. She can't tell anyone if they do not catch her."

"I say kill her now, before this caves in on us!"

Farrell is on his feet, talking at the same time as Rourke. Both are looking at O'Kane, saying there will be no killing.

"QUIET!"

We all turn to where Aiden is still sitting. He and Ailin have not had a word in the conversation so far.

He stands slowly. Leaning forward with his fists on the table, he looks Connor O'Kane in the eyes, and says, "There will be no killing, O'Kane. You had nothing to do with the rescue, that was Ailin and me. You do not have to look after her. If you don't want to help her then I suggest you leave my house. Katniss," he turns to look at me," I will help you get her out of there."

"Me too," says Ailin. He is the only one still sitting, but like his uncle, he has remained calm.

"I'll take no part in this!" O'Kane is boiling.

"Connor, you need to understand the bigger picture. If we can get her back to Panem we can get assistance to fight the Union," says Connor Rourke.

"How are they going to help? If they are that far away, the logistics of fighting a war over here will reduce the effectiveness. And they are going to do it for people they care nothing about, have absolutely no ties with? You are dreaming, you have done nothing but throw mud at the Union your whole life; you are a fool to think anything will change. We are like ants on a cow's behind. What is the point? I am not risking my life for some stranger in a prison. She came here to fight a war. I say leave her to rot!" O'Kane is near hysterical, like so many years of frustration have boiled out in a rant against Shar and me.

I try to stay calm when I reply. "Shar didn't choose to come! She was working on our craft. She isn't a soldier. She is just an orphan who had nowhere else to go. She doesn't deserve imprisonment, she deserves to get home."

Despite being a head shorter than the men around me, I am defiant.

"If you cannot help me further then I say thank you for rescuing me and I ask only one more favour. Can you point me in the direction of the prison?"

Before O'Kane can say anything else, Farrell says, "O'Kane. I think it is best you leave now, and I do not think you should ever come back. If that is what you believe about our cause and about the life of an innocent woman, then you need to go back to your life in New Dublin."

A wave of relief washes over me. Farrell will help me!

Connor O'Kane looks around at everyone, perhaps for some support. He starts to walk to the door, then turns and points at me. "I told you, this woman is trouble. She will be the undoing of us all, mark my words. It has already started." He walks out the door and we hear footsteps fade away, then the gate opens and closes.

I sit down in my chair, shocked at O'Kane's hatred of me. What did I do to anger him so?

Connor Rourke is the first to speak, almost reading my mind. "It has nothing to do with you, Katniss. You did nothing wrong. That has been a long time coming."

"I'll get some mead," offers Ailin, and gets up for the first time to fetch glasses and the bottle.

Connor stands behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders, squeezing softly. For a second I let the soothing pressure sends relaxing waves into my neck. Then I shover at the touch of a total stranger and stand up, almost jumping. How could I let him touch me?

He smiles and I am sure I see a slight mouthing of the word 'sorry'.

Ailin is pouring mead into glasses while we still stand around the table. Farrel urges everyone to sit down. He pats my hand, and then asks, "So how do we get Shar out of that prison?"


	17. Chapter 17

Day 12 - Rescue

I haven't seen the prison from the outside before, despite spending two days inside. It is a two-storey stone building, thick-walled with a grey, tiled roof. The shape is a U, with the only entrance inside the courtyard. Across the open part of the U is large metal gate, locked against both escape and infiltration. Although it is daytime, the light is grey and makes the prison look cold, almost evil.

Farrell, Aiden and Ailin have been away for three hours, getting word to the friendly guards and sourcing supplies. The plan is to have the guards leave the gate unlocked and leave markers where Shar is held. We will go in at night via the window, as well as the gate, when most of the guards are sleeping. Aiden was worried that the Union soldiers could be expecting a rescue attempt. Despite my urging speed, the others listened to Aiden and agreed to watch for two days before attempting a rescue. They have decided tonight is the time to make the attempt.

Connor and I are watching the prison through a window of a house across the street. The panes of glass are thick with dirt, making everything hazy but also protecting us from detection. It is cloudy outside so the light is poor, even without the grime on the windows. Connor seems to have made it his role to escort and protect me. Despite my arguments against it, he has continued shadowing me.

Connor seems too familiar, too accommodating. Last night, as we were preparing to sleep in a farmhouse of some acquaintances, I had to push him out of the room they had allocated to me. The constant attention is uncomfortable.

It took us two days to get back to New Dublin. Yesterday was something the Irish call Christmas. They celebrate the birth of someone called Jesus, the Son of their God. Although everyone stops working for the day and spends the day with family and at their churches, we travelled. I do not understand the religion and the others have no family nearby. We also took extra precautions to avoid attracting attention. They said spy-planes would be looking everywhere for signs of unusual activity. We split into two groups and used pedal bikes to reach New Dublin. Connor insisted on coming with me, to protect me, he said. Farrell conceded eventually, again despite my protests.

Connor breaks the silence. "Katniss, I would prefer if tonight you stayed here and let us do this. It will be safer."

"Women can fight as well as men. I fought in a war, better than most. I survived two Hunger Games. Not many can say that. Besides which, Shar will be more co-operative if she sees me."

He starts to object but I walk away before I say something I might regret. They have been extremely generous in their assistance; I do not want to seem ungrateful. Why does this man think I need protecting? I am not a dainty over-painted Capitol woman.

I go to the next room, a cold room with old red and gold leaf paper on the walls, peeling off at the edges and along the seams. The pale light still manages to show up the dust covering the surfaces. An old sofa is the only piece of furniture but it is better than lying on the floor. Wrapped in a cloak Aiden gave me, I wait alone for something to happen.

The front door finally opens, I am not sure after how long, but there are more footsteps than I expect. I sit up and wonder where to hide but the only place is behind the sofa. I slip over the back and wish I had a weapon. Muffled voices echo from the next room. Is Connor still there? It didn't sound like he left the observation room but I am not sure if I was awake the whole time.

"Katniss?" It is Farrell! As I stand up I take a deep breath, my first in many seconds. "Oh, there you are. Were you hiding?" He laughs but nods approval.

There are three unfamiliar faces trying to catch a glimpse of me from behind Farrell. He steps into the room and they follow. There are two men and a woman, all pale-skinned with black hair. The one man is the same age as Farrell, the other man and the woman are about my age. They are quite excited, their faces dominated by broad grins. They push forward so Farrell steps toward me and turns to form a protective barrier.

"Lady and gentlemen, allow me to introduce Katniss Everdeen, the Mockingjay." Farrell says it so formally, I wonder who these people are. The use of the title still makes me uncomfortable.

He turns to me, "Katniss, allow me to introduce some, secret, members of our resistance. This is Siobhan Moynihan, my sister,…"

"Younger sister, don't forget," she says with a giggle in her voice.

"…my younger sister, her husband Thomas Moynihan, and my closest friend, Peter O'Byrne."

"My husband's name is Peeta," I say, looking at the man introduced last, at which he smiles widely.

I shake their hands one by one, alarmed by their enthusiasm. "We really admire you Katniss"… "Thank you for coming" … "Wonderful to meet you", and a comment from Siobhan to Farrell, "she could be Irish from her look". Not quite sure what to say, I manage a few thank yous and smiles. It is as if I am a celebrity. I look at Farrell in surprise.

"They have seen the vids of the Panem rebellion. You are a hero to all who have managed to see them. That is why I called you here. It wasn't to get you to fight, or bring an army. An army could not defeat the Union, but a nation, now that is different. I wanted you to come and meet the people, inspire them, mobilise them to do more than exist, inspire them to rise up as a nation against the Union. I wasn't the leader Becca was. They didn't believe in me, I was hoping they would believe in you, and thus in themselves."

The sadness in his eyes tells me so much more about his own internal disappointment. I step to him and hug him. It is something Peeta would do but it feels strange to me.

Farrell hugs me back and then releases me and asks everyone to gather in the kitchen to discuss our plans. A plan develops over the next hour. Thomas and Peter will leave and advise the two guards to turn a blind eye. That negates two of the guards but we are unsure of the guarding schedule. Reconnaissance has shown there are five other guards at the prison. They are armed. Unlike the soldiers who captured me at Farrell's house, they only have light weapons.

Ailin, Aiden and Connor will help me gain access via the high window in the cell I shared with Shar. As the smallest, it is sensible that I go in. We do not know Shar's health so although we plan to take her out via the window we may need to exit via the main door and gate.

If that eventuates the friendly guards on the inside must open the cell door and then be tied up so it looks like they were assaulted. The people on the outside will create a diversion to draw the other guards out of the building. If any remain then we will need to handle them from inside. A truck will ram the gate and we will all drive out and away from town. If we can exit via the window then we will still use the truck to leave town. Most of us will continue on foot through a forest whilst Ailin takes the truck further north and then abandons it. We will hold up in a farmhouse where the Moynihans have hidden food and water.  
Farrell suggests it will take about a week before we can surface and head west where we can plan a way to return to Panem. Then it is up to me to convince the Senate to help the Irish people. For all they have done for Shar and me it is the least I can do. Peeta will need to help; he is much better with words and has a strong influence in the Senate.

Shar is, luckily, still here. The Union have no desire to move her. That is strange to me as I expected a person from outside the Union would be of great interest. What did the guard say? They wanted me. It is hard to understand how they would know who I am. Unless they also know that I was the Mockingjay. In which case the Union were watching Panem, may even have had contact with the government. Perhaps Snow had allies within the Union. They were both dictatorial. In that case I would have expected Snow to receive assistance from the Union against our rebellion.

We all dress in darker clothes, in preparation. I have woollen coveralls on over my normal clothes. The wool makes little sound when I move and the fit is tight enough to allow movement but not catch on anything. Farrell's sister takes pride in her selection for me, and so she should.

Farrell comes to me with a long package, wrapped in cloth. I look at him and grin, unable to help myself. The shape of it. The length. I know what is inside before I open it. When I unwrap it, it is a thing of beauty. A short, recurve bow. It is nothing like my father's bows. They were cruder. He had no facilities to make bows the way he wanted. The bow is also nothing like the bows I used during the games, or during the rebellion. They were machined bows, made from modern materials that did not break. The strings were thinner and stronger than any natural string could be. No, this one is nothing like them. It is handcrafted, carved from multiple pieces of a pale, dense wood, layered and moulded together to provide flex and strength. From every angle I look, it is perfect. I run my hand up and down the bow, feeling the smoothness of the wood. There are beautiful shallow etchings, intricate knots that loop back on themselves. The etchings are visible but I cannot feel them. The string is made of a natural material, a gut perhaps. On the string is a nocking point and a kisser. It is heavier than my hunting bow back home, but the balance when I put my hand through the sling and hold it, is perfect.

I draw the string back. It is easy to do so, although I can feel the power it is ready to unleash.

"It is made of Ash. It is a strong bow; it shoots straight," says Farrell.

"Thank you. It is beautiful! Who made it?" I ask as I admire the workmanship.

"Connor Rourke."

I am startled and look over to where Connor is standing by the door. He is smiling. "Never have I seen such a handsome couple. It is like I made it for you alone."

I blush, but hold on to the bow. Farrell is holding a quiver that I did not see him bring in. It too shows the attention of an artisan. It is possibly a bit longer that I like, made for a man, but if I adjust the strapping it should still be a good fit. The arrows have feather quills, lacquered for rigidity and improved accuracy.

I look at Connor again. Underneath the roguery lies a person of surprising depth. Although he was flirting with me, he has also shown compassion. He has a calmness that belies the ragged hair and scraggly beard. He reminds me of Peeta in some ways. Definitely not in his appearance. Peeta is much shorter, with lighter hair and a stockier build. My husband is always well dressed and clean. Even before the Games, Peeta always looked after his appearance.

"Thank you." It seems they are the only appropriate words.

"You are welcome. I am sure we can arrange for payment later. A kiss perhaps." He smiles and winks.

"Connor! There'll be none of that talk here, she is a married woman!" says Siobhan Moynihan. "You should apologise immediately!"

"I apologise for asking payment," says Connor, "but a kiss would still be welcome."

A quick pivot and he is out the room before Siobhan's deep intake of breath is finished. I stand quiet, blushing again.

"I'm sorry, Katniss, he should know better," says Siobhan, but I wave it away. I cannot upset any member of the team right now. But the comment keeps ringing in my head.

We sit in darkness, not wanting a light in the abandoned house to attract attention. The only light we do have is from some weak lighting at the prison. Everyone is quiet, engulfed in his or her own thoughts. I am at once excited and nervous – excited to be rescuing Shar but nervous of the mission. Will I be able to do my part? I have not been involved in conflict since the rebellion. Maybe I am too old, back then I was only seventeen. My biggest fear is that I cannot cope mentally. My years of isolation in 12 had their roots in the trauma, the psychological damage that Peeta and I experienced. Witnessing the horror of the Games and war. Losing friends, Losing Prim. I still have visions of the first boy I killed, defending Rue. Marvel was his name, from District 1, although I did not know his name when I killed him. He was just trying to survive. Why him and not me?

I break first, standing up and walking to the window to look outside. "How long now?"

"Not yet," says Aiden, "we need the guarding shift to change."

I walk through to the other room with the lone sofa. Farrell is sitting there, alone, so I sit next to him, one leg bent under the knee of the other, sideways so that I can look at him, my arm resting on the back of the sofa.

He smiles and puts his hand on mine. "Almost time," he says reassuringly.

"Why are you helping us, Farrell?" I ask.

"I told you before; you are here because of me. My vid brought you here. You need to leave this place, go home. A family needs a mother. Fathers are good for playing, good for leadership, good for many things. But for a man to be a mother as well, that is perhaps the hardest thing of all. Women have special talents. People need their mothers, their wives."

"And the others?"

"Aiden and Ailin. Uncle and nephew. Salt of the earth, as we say here in Ireland. They lost their family to the Union. For them it is retaliation. Anything to strike a blow." His voice has a melancholy tone, as if he knows exactly how they feel. He lost Becca.

"What about Connor?"

"Connor? Connor is, first and foremost, an Irishman. Passionate, musical, he was born for another time. He should be painting, writing, playing music. It is amazing to see how he inspires others to be more. He has fought his entire life for freedom. Nothing means more to him than the hope, one day, that we Irish will be free. Connor never married. The last woman he was friendly with lived up north, where they support the Union. It became too much for him, so he left her. That was twenty years ago. He swore to fight against the Union to the end, either of their rule or his own life. You have given him hope; hope that the Irish people can take back what is ours."

I hear whispers from the next room and then Aiden appears and says, "It's time."

Finally! The tension is broken; waiting is never easy. When you are waiting for something dangerous, your heart is beating faster than it should, even without doing anything. You get hot, you perspire, your stomach knots. Waiting is uncomfortable.

The six men stand with me. Thomas persuaded Siobhan to leave a few hours ago when it was still light. There are the seven of us on the rescue mission, each with our assigned role. We move through the house quietly, collecting equipment as we go; my bow and quiver, knives, ropes, old handguns.

One by one, we slip out the back door on the side away from the house. From there we separate into two groups. Three of our group head east. They are going to get a truck, ready for an assault on the gate. Aiden, Ailin, Connor and I head south, then west, then north, looping a few blocks to get behind the prison. It is difficult to see where we are going in the dark. The roads are not that smooth and I stub my boot a number of times as we walk. Light from the windows of the houses help guide us, although cloud cover prevents the crescent moon from aiding.

I hear a mutter from Aiden moments before I feel a drop of rain hit my nose. It has been raining most of the day, a light rain that at times looked like a thin mist. Farrell said it was a good sign when the rain stopped two hours ago. Now it will make things more difficult, especially for the four of us. It is our task to get into the window.

After 10 minutes we get to the rear of the prison. As I stand next to the wall I appreciate the rain has its benefits. The sound dampens echoes, muffling most sounds we will make. We just need to be careful not to knock on the wall as that will reverberate through the building.

Ailin hands me a light string. I tie it to an arrow as he ties the other end to a rope. I nock the arrow in the bow and draw back, aiming almost straight up. I draw just enough so that when I release the arrow it loops over a beam that protrudes from the apex of the tiled roof. The weight of the arrow pulls the string up and back down. The length of the string stops the arrow falling all the way to the ground and Ailin has to jump to pull it further down. He then pulls the string, which lifts the rope up and over the beam.

So far so good. When the end of the rope is drawn all the way, Ailin ties a loop with it. Aiden and Connor have been watching up and down the street until now. Now they step forward to help lift me. I put one foot in the loop and hold the rope with both hands. Aiden and Ailin pull on the other end as Connor holds me steady. They slowly lift me up, Connor pushing and the others pulling until I am too high for Connor to push. He quickly steps across to the others and helps pull on the rope. I sway a little with each small lift and start to rotate a bit. By the time I get to the window I am able to see above the roofs of the town, although not very far due to the rain.

Everything is harder with the rain. The wall is slippery and I cannot use it to steady myself. The rope keeps jagging against the beam overhead, halting my elevation and causing the men to have to release the rope a little before pulling past the blocking point. The men keep wiping water off their faces.

Now that I am at the window, I have to remove some louvres. Aiden gave me a knife and I use it with one hand as I hold onto the rope with the other. I prod at the end of a slat and get some purchase. Twisting the knife, I manage to get the slat out of the slot that holds it. With only one hand I cannot pull it out. Holding the knife and rope is the problem, so I put the knife away and get the rope between the building and me. With my free leg looped around the rope I manage to get both hands on the slat. Tugging on it in short burst has the desired effect and just as it is about to pull free I take one hand and hold the rope. Then, using my free hand, I get the slat free and with a whispered warning, I drop it.

Aiden releases his grip on the rope and catches the slat. I see him close his fist with his thumb extended, a big smile on his face. It must be difficult for them all, holding me up. I need to hurry before they are too tired to hold on.

The second slat takes longer than the first. The slots are deeper and I end up using the knife to cut a portion of the frame on each side. I drop the slat to Aiden.

Assessing the third slat and the space left by the first two, I believe I can squeeze through without removing the third. I signal down to the others to lift me. They pull me up half a metre, so that my hips are level with the window. Within a minute I am sitting on a thin ledge, half above the cell and half outside. It is a six metre drop to the floor in the cell. I pull the rope three times to signal I need slack to descend more. My foot comes out the loop and I drop the length of rope into the cell.

I twist, contorting my body around so that I am on my stomach. The ledge is slippery so I move very slowly. The space is tiny; I should have taken the third slat out. My bow and quiver are not going to get through the gap where they are. I make a decision to drop them to the others. A bow isn't much use in a building anyway. I do have a knife with me, although I was never very good hand-to-hand.

After dropping the bow and quiver to Aiden I slide backwards slowly, holding the outside of the ledge. My legs are wrapped around the rope for support, like they showed us in the training for the Games. Finally, I let go of the ledge and put my full weight on the rope. There is a slight jerk and then the men outside have my weight. I climb down about four metres and then drop the last two, facing away from the wall and rolling forward when I hit the ground.

I crouch in the dark on my hands, one knee and one foot, waiting to see if I have been heard, ready to react if anyone comes to the door. My heart is pounding and I can hear the blood flowing in my eardrums. Everything else is quiet. Taking Aiden's advice, I wait a minute more before I pull the knife from my belt and softly approaching the area where the benches should be. I the dark I am not sure.

"Shar?" I whisper her name. I take four more steps toward the corner.

"Shar, it's Katniss."

"Katniss?" she says it with a tremble in her voice. What she must have been through, all alone here. Tears well in my eyes and I get a constricting tightness in my neck and lower jaw.

I struggle to say anything; I do not want her to hear anything wrong in my voice. I see her outline now and step to her. She grabs me in tight hug, as if she won't ever let go.

I managed to say, "It's me. I've come to get you. We are going home."

Her cold body shakes with sobs and I hear a soft whimper, of relief. It is that moment when you believe you will be all right. I have had that a few times in my life, now I feel it shake through Shar's body. I hold her for a minute, stroke the back of her hair, as I do when Jewel hurts herself. I hold her until her quiet sobbing subsides.

I squeeze her hard and lean back, looking into her eyes. She is barely visible in the dark but I can see she is still wide-eyed, traumatised by her experience.

"Can you climb a rope?" I ask.

"Yes, I think I can," she replies.

We move over to the wall where the rope hangs. I try to reach it but it is too high.

"I'll lift you, try to reach the loop in the rope," I say. I think I will be stronger than her, considering she has been kept in the cell an extra six days.

I stand with my back to the wall and cup my hands in front of me. Shar puts her foot in my hand, her hands on my shoulders, and launches upward. She manages to grab the rope and hold it long enough to pull it down a little before she loses balance and drops to the floor.

"Good, we need it lower though," I say, trying to remain positive.

We try again but this time the rope does not drop lower. It must be stuck. How are we going to get it unstuck? Climbing is going to take strength and I am not sure Shar can do it.

"I can't get it, we can't get out," says Shar with panic in her voice.

"Shar, I need to get to the top to release the rope. Will you be all right whilst I climb up and loosen the rope?" She still has that wide-eyed look but nods bravely.

We swap places and she boosts me up. I balance against the wall whilst standing on her hand, and then I slowly step onto her shoulder, boosting myself up and grabbing the loop. From my District 13 training I know how to climb up a wall using a rope. The rope is rough on my hands as I get my feet on the face of the wall and start to walk up the wall, leaning backward. The higher I go the harder it becomes, as the rope is getting closer to the wall. My legs are bent at the knee so that I can keep my grip on the rope. My muscles are starting to ache and shake when I make it to the top. I know it is slippery so I get a grip on the rope that is unseen on the top of the ledge. Then I get a grip at the other side of the ledge and pull my body over.

I lay still for a few breaths, drained by the effort. Then I get to work pulling the rope down. It is definitely jammed. I don't want to escape through the front, this has to work. I lean over and whisper down to the men below, "The rope is stuck, I cannot pull it down low enough."

"Is Shar there?"

"Yes, I have her, but the rope doesn't reach the ground."

"Hold your end, we will pull it off the beam above you." I think that is Connor.

"I have it."

They start to shake the rope and pull it away from the building until it suddenly drops. The water has made it heavy and the weight of it falling would have pulled it from my arms if I had not also been laying on it.

"We'll hold this side, tell us when to pull."

I pull the rope through the window until it is low enough for Shar to touch.

"I have it," she whispers.

"Put your foot in the loop and hold the rope with both hands, we will pull you up to the window."

A few seconds later she calls that she is ready and I relay the information. The men start to pull. There is not enough space in the window for both of us, due to the remaining slats. Either I get rid of them or I get out of the way completely. I should have planned this better but it is too late now to worry about that.

"Stop, I need to get out of the way." I wiggle and twist myself around until my feet are hanging over then, holding the rope and ledge, I suspend my entire body over the edge. I let go and twist in the air to try face away from the wall when I land. As I hit the ground, one of the men helps break my fall. It is Connor, the self-appointed guardian.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. Pull Shar up."

Connor rejoins Aiden and Ailin and they pull in short bursts until we hear a whisper from the window.

"I'm on the ledge, how do I get down?" asks Shar. Her voice is loud in the silence and we all shush her immediately.

Aiden whispers, "You'll have to jump, we'll catch you."

"How far is it?"

"The same as inside, not far," I say, "Don't worry, they caught me."

We hear her manoeuvring, then see her dangle and let go. She is falling and lets out a little cry. Then Aiden and Connor catch her and she is on the ground with us. She is out! I can get her home! But first we need to get away from here.

I loop the strap of the quiver over my head and shoulder, catch up my bow, take Shar's hand and start to pull her away when there is a challenge from the direction of the main gate.

"Who's there?"

"Run, follow Ailin," says Aiden.

Spotlights suddenly light up the building, almost making it look like daylight. We run for the corner of the building and a shot rings out behind us. Connor turns and fires his hand pistol. I turn and see two soldiers pointing guns at us. I reach behind me for an arrow, notch it and fire it at the soldier closest to us. He sees it arching toward him but cannot get out of the way in time. It catches him in the shoulder and he cries out in pain, dropping to the ground. A picture of a boy dropping to his knees flashes in my mind, but I shake it off. I notch another arrow and fire at the second guard. This time I hit him square in the chest and he drop backward from the impact.

Then we are running. Around the corner we cross the road and run down a side street. We need to loop a few blocks and get to the meeting point. There is more noise from the prison, shouts and commands ring out. We run three blocks and then turn left. At the next corner Ailin checks before dashing across the road. Each of us do the same, making sure no soldiers are looking. When we are all across, we start to run as a group again. We go along the road about five hundred metres before Ailin stops us. We all duck into a gap in a wall.

Aiden waves us in close. "Is everyone all right? Did anyone get injured by the guard?" asks Aiden. When he is sure we are all unharmed he continues, "It is unfortunate that they saw us. Everyone get your weapons ready, when we start the truck the noise will attract the guards. Good shooting Katniss."

Everyone murmurs in agreement and I nod my head in thanks, a little embarrassed but grateful that he has handed me some credibility. I need every bit of help I can get. We may have Shar out of the prison but we have much to do still and I cannot get us home without help. If they have respect for me then they will more readily aid us.

Aiden leads us into a garden. We sneak through it and then into another via a gap in a wall, finally reaching a gate to a road on the other side. Crossing the road and entering via a small door in a bigger garage door, we find the others hidden next to a truck.

The truck is much like the one I rode in when Aiden and Ailin rescued me, except it has a closed roof on the back. I remember the noise that one made. As soon as it starts, it will attract attention. Even with the rain softening echoes, the truck will be loud enough to alert the searching guards.

Farrell moves out of the shadow and approaches Shar, "I'm glad to see you again. Are you all right? Did they hurt you?"

"No. Yes. … No, they didn't hurt me, and I am all right. Thank you for coming for me." Shar's voice is sincere and steady. The number of people here is comforting; there is a sense of strength. We cannot fight a battle but we have a chance of escaping a small detachment of guards.

"Right. Connor, you can drive. Ailin, Aiden, get ready to open the doors. Everyone else in the back of the truck."

"Farrell, I am staying. I cannot leave Siobhan alone. They will do house searches. If I am not there they will suspect my involvement," says Thomas.

"OK Thomas. Go now. We will wait four minutes. Then we must start the truck and go." Farrell steps forward and hugs his brother-in-law, then guides him toward the door, where Thomas pauses and checks the road before disappearing to the left.

"Take your places," says Farrell, climbing into the seat next to the driver.

Connor helps Shar and me climb up into the back and then goes around to the front. Shar sits next to me on a wooden bench seat, so I take her hand. She smiles and squeezes my hand back.

"Thank you for coming for me. I thought I would be in prison the rest of my life. How did you escape?" she asks.

"Farrell arranged it. Some people knew where we were. They attacked the truck I was travelling in. They are Resistance. One of them said I was trouble; he wanted to send me away. The others though, they are fighting the Union, so they helped me rescue you. I have promised to ask for help back home, when we get there. "

Peter climbs into the back of the truck and sits on the bench opposite us.

"Do you know how to use a gun?" he asks.

"No," says Shar. How would she, I wonder? She is a gentle person, she only ever lived in times of peace.

I do, but I have my bow, so I decline the gun he is offering.

Suddenly the truck engine coughs into life, spewing exhaust fumes into the space behind the truck. The fumes rise up into the back and we all start to cough as well. The doors swing open and Connor drives forward and out the garage, turning to the left before stopping. Aiden and Ailin close the doors and then jump up on the truck. Connor accelerates hard and the truck lurches from one gear to another, going faster and faster. Within three minutes we pass the last houses in the town and head north.

Half an hour later the truck slows and pulls off the road, the wheels crunching on gravel. When the truck stops we hear the front doors open, and Farrell and Connor come to the back of the truck.

"We need to get rid of the truck. It is a beacon for them to find. Connor and I have a new plan. We will hide the truck then walk from here to the northern farms. The tunnels will hide us."

We exit the truck and the men set about camouflaging the truck with leaves and branches. As they work Shar huddles next to me for warmth. She is shivering almost uncontrollably. The jumpsuit she wears has tech in it but now the batteries are dead and the solar cells have not had sun in a week. Fear and stress contribute too.

Ailin comes over to us and puts his undercoat around Shar, then steps away to help finish hiding the truck without a single word. When they finish, we all start walking through the forest, everyone alert for detection. The light is weaker under the canopy of the trees, making it difficult to know where we are. The men take care to lead us over rocks as often as possible in order to reduce the tracks we are definitely leaving. They know the area well, confidently weaving a path through the wilderness. Marching in single file, we make good time, not resting for nearly two hours before taking our first break. I have no idea how far though. At least the rain stopped, although water still drips from the trees.

We get to a road and after checking for people, we head north along the road. I can only guess it is hide our tracks. Light is starting to show in the east, showing the silhouette of trees lining the road. We have been active the entire night and there is no way we are close to being able to sleep. After a few kilometres we leave the road on the same side that we entered it. I see a farmhouse in front of us and assume that is where we are going.

As we get to the house there is a sudden sound, a rhythmic humming, like the wings of a giant bee.

"Helicopters!" hisses Connor, "Run! Inside! Now!"

We all start sprinting for the house but the helicopter comes into sight behind us, flying over the trees.

"How'd they find us?" I shout as we run.

"We should have split up, we are a large group," Connor replies.

The helicopter is right behind us. I look over my shoulder and it is close enough to see there is a front window with, I assume, a pilot behind it. We are never going to make the house. I see Shar's terrified face and know what I need to do. I slow my running, then, when I am behind everyone else, I stop. I turn, taking my bow off my shoulder. I notch an arrow and wait for the helicopter to come within a suitable range. Now I wish I had a modern bow, like I did the day we visited the District 8 hospital and the hovercraft attacked. My only chance now is to shoot the pilot. Will the bow be strong enough?

It is strange, but I am suddenly calm. I take a deep breath, relax my shoulders, flare my eyes for a moment. Another deep breath and I draw the string of the bow to my chin, then aim. Time is suddenly going slower. I see the exposed rotor of the helicopter spinning. The helicopter's downdraft is blowing the bushes and grass underneath it. I can see the face of the pilot now. The helicopter rotates sideways and a soldier with a large gun is hanging out the door, bringing the weapon to bear. I adjust my aim away from the pilot to the soldier and release the arrow.

It flies straight but dips as it gets to the helicopter. The downdraft pushes the arrow down but I still hit my target, only in the leg not the chest. I notch another arrow and fire again, this time higher. It hits the rotor. The soldier is trying to pull the arrow out his leg, then stops and takes the weapon in his hands again. I fire another arrow and this time I hit him square in the chest. The pilot looks behind him and then pulls on a stick that lifts the helicopter up into the air and away from my position.

I'm up and running again. Connor has stopped but the others are almost at the house. He is waving at me to hurry. He lifts his rifle and aims it over my shoulder, firing three shots. I pass him and look behind me. The first helicopter is holding position but two others are approaching fast.

I arrive at the door and burst through into a kitchen. The hearth is open, revealing a tunnel. Only Ailin is waiting.

"Down the stairs, fast!" he shouts. The noise of the two helicopters is now a roar. Connor enters the room, sliding on his feet like we did on the lake ice. He wrestles the door closed.

"Ailin, go. I will keep them back. Get the others to the other side and away," Connor is forceful, Ailin accedes.

He reaches for my shoulder to guide me but I shake my head.

"Look after Shar for me," I say, holding his gaze.

Ailin looks at Connor, then at my bow. He nods, hands me his pistol, then launches down the stair in a single bound.

Connor closes the hearth and sweeps the footprints with a besom. "We need to move away from this room. The longer they are distracted the better for the others."

It makes sense. I follow him to the next room, a larger living area. Connor drags furniture in front of the door then rolls two chairs over in the corners away from the windows. We each take cover behind a chair. Anyone coming through the door will take fire from two sides.

The helicopter sounds change, start to diminish. At least they won't destroy the building. They must want us alive. We wait in anticipation for an attack. I look at Connor. He blows me a kiss and smiles. I can only shake my head and smile. I am grateful he is here.

A force hits the door, knocking the furniture back a fraction. Voices call and footsteps sound in the kitchen. There is scuffling, then footsteps receding.

"Get down!" says Connor, "they are blowing the door!"

I duck low to the floor.

A roar shakes the room and the chair hits me in the back. Dust and smoke blow into the room, making it difficult to breath. My ears are ringing. I have dropped my bow but still have the pistol. It would be difficult to use the bow in small space anyway. I look over the chair and see a gaping hole where the door and furniture were. Wreckage covers the entire room. A soldier enters the room. I raise the pistol to shoot but Connor fires first, twice. I see the flashes more than hear the shots. The soldier drops to the floor, lifeless.

Another two soldiers burst in and Connor shoots them both. One hits the floor but the other stays up. He turns to face Connor so I fire at him and he drops as well. There are three bodies just inside the doorway.

There is a noise outside the window then a rock smashes through it. I swing the pistol in the direction of the window but the next soldier comes in via the door, diving far into the room and coming up to shoot at Connor's corner. Luckily I was facing the window and fire three times before he goes down, without firing at all.

I see movement outside the window and fire again. I hear a grunt and then something hits the ground. I look over at Connor. He scans from window to door and back again, repeatedly. There is a sudden silence. Are there any more soldiers? We cannot take a chance; we stay crouched behind our chairs. Waiting for the next attack, for certain death.

After a minute I stand but Connor shakes his head and gestures for me to crouch again. I do so. How long do we wait?

Something arcs through the air. A grenade starts spewing a thick gas. Within seconds the gas is burning my eyes, and with a single breath, my lungs. I cover my mouth with my clothing and squint my eyes. A soldier sticks a gun around the corner of the door and fires toward Connor, hitting the chair three times before I shoot him. Now they must know I am on this side of the room. It is now unbearable in the room. The fabric is helping me breathe although the action is painful. I don't know how long I can resist.

Two soldiers rush in the room and Connor fires, hitting one. I try to fire but the pistol just clicks. No more bullets! I drop the pistol and pull an arrow from the quiver. Connor shoots the second soldier, whose body falls on his companion. I need to tell Connor I have no more bullets but I don't know who may be listening on the other side of the door.

I start to cough, and with every cough there is an intake of breath, which makes it even worse.

"We're coming out!" shouts Connor.

"Come out only by one, no guns," says someone in thickly accented English.

Connor stands up slowly and throws his pistol through the door. He nods at me to go first. I pick up the bow and put the arrow back in the quiver. Is that it? Have we delayed them enough? I cough repeatedly as I stumble over the wreckage and bodies, out of the chaos and into fresh air. I lift both my hands over my head, bow in one, and struggle to the kitchen door.

Once outside I fall to the ground, still coughing and retching. A soldier stands over me. He grabs the bow, rips the quiver off me, then kicks me flat. He pulls my arms roughly and ties strapping tightly around my wrists behind my back. I am left lying on my stomach.

"We have her, now the rest of you. By ones."

Looking to my left I can see four soldiers with rifles. Despite my condition they ignore me and wait for the next person to exit. I cannot see him but I hear Connor trip as he exits the farmhouse. Two of the soldiers disappear from view and drag Connor to my side. They tie his wrists as well despite his body convulsing like mine, trying to expel the gas that has invaded.

"OK, who comes next?"

There is obviously no answer, but Connor and I do not volunteer any information, partly because of our condition but also because we need to delay them as long as possible.

"Come out. We shoot if you don't."

The speaker, most likely their officer, barks orders in a foreign language and I see one of the soldiers pull another grenade from his belt. He walks out of sight, then we hear the hiss of the grenade in the house.

More orders, and all the soldiers move to the farmhouse. The officer stands over Connor, pulling his head up with the back of his hair. "Tell them to come out now!" he says, as I see saliva spraying out his mouth.

Between coughs Connor manages a few words, "come out …. Leave the guns …. Come out."

I laugh, but the laugh comes out as a fit of coughs.

Someone shouts from inside the house. The officer looks around and then back to Connor.

"You fool me!" the officer is livid and slaps Connor on the back of his head, then stands straight. A rib cracks audibly as the heavy military boot connects with Connor's side.

He cries out in pain as I scream his name. I try to get up but a boot lands heavily between my shoulder blades, slamming me back down face-first into the wet sod.

The officer rolls Connor over, pulls his upper body up by his shirt. "Where are others? You are seven. Where are others?"

"Having breakfast," answers Connor defiantly, for which the officer slaps him in the face. The glove leaves a large welt on Connor's face.

"Leave him," I scream.

The officer drops Connor back to the ground and strides to me. He lifts me from the ground and stands me in front of him. I get to see him properly for the first time. He has skin darker than mine, a golden brown. His head is shaved completely. His almost-black eyes stare out from under thick black eyebrows. They are not cruel eyes at all, which surprises me.

He draws a knife and places the serrated spine of it against my neck. The knife bites at my skin. The serrated edge is like the teeth of a wolf, hungry to bite into me except for the owner restraining it. Looking back at Connor he says, "You tell me. You tell or she hurts!"

Connor looks at me and must see something wild or scared because he answers immediately.

"They are gone. They escaped through the back window of the house and ran for the woods," says Connor.

The officer watches Connor for a few seconds, then shouts some orders, waves his hand with the knife in a circle in the air, and a helicopter engine starts. They are going to look for them from the air.

He shoves me toward one of the soldiers, then points to Connor, says something, and two soldiers lift him to his feet. Pain jolts across his body and visage but he stays standing. They push and drag us to the second helicopter. We struggle to reach the deck until a soldier climbs up and pulls us roughly. Then we are strapped in so that we cannot escape.

As the helicopter lifts off I look out over the area. I do not know where the tunnel leads but I must assume Connor pointed in the wrong direction. I hope the others escaped.

Three thoughts persist in my mind. I failed Shar. I failed my family. Peeta, where are you? I need you!


	18. Chapter 18

Day 20 - The Rock

"Good morning, Katniss."

"Good morning Cronan, a nice day today, isn't it," I reply.

"Ay, a touch warmer it is. This afternoon will be wet though. We're on the path to spring, and that's always better for an old man's bones. The cold hurts so," he says. His name is Cronan, he has been at the Rock for nearly 10 years.

"What are you going to do today?" I ask, knowing the answer will be longer than I want. But there isn't much else to do. As Cronan starts to tell me about walking around the compound and the garden he cares for, I think of my father. My father always told me it was good to marry a talker. That way when you were old together you would not sit looking at each other in silence. If I use that rule then Cronan would be a great husband. Unfortunately he was arrested for dissidence, separated from his wife and locked up here at the Rock. They will never release him. He will grow old, alone, and die here one day. The amazing part is that he has hope that he will see his wife and daughter again.

Cronan befriended me the minute I walked out into the compound four days ago. I guess he had talked the ears off everyone else here and a new face was like fresh meat on the table after a week of the same reheated stew. I was grateful for the friendship, and for his verbosity. It deflected attention away from me and distracted me from the real situation.

The Rock. The first three days that I was here, they questioned me, just like before at New Dublin. Questioned repeatedly, kept awake for two nights, made to sit in a single room with people going in and out, it was as if they had a rulebook. When they asked me about the others I was truthful and I did not know where they went. When they asked about the resistance, I said I did not know where they were. They asked where I was from, what I was doing in Ireland. I told them what I told the other commander. At least last time I had Shar with me. After three days they let me sleep. On the fourth day they scrubbed me down and sprayed me with disinfectant, provided new drab clothes, and granted access to the compound.

That is where I am now, sitting in the compound on a bench, talking to Cronan. There are thirty-six other people in the compound, all prisoners of the Union, all considered high risk and destined to die here. Or so Cronan says. In four days Cronan has told me the history of the Rock, all about the people that are here, all about the Union.

The Rock at Cashel is a large mound that rears up 50 metres over a vast plain. Irishmen built the first buildings on the top of it nearly two thousand years ago. The buildings were destroyed a number of times until what was left was mostly ruins. The Union, the latest invaders of Ireland, took control of the Rock and converted the old buildings into a prison. It would be magnificent to visit it, to stand on the only remaining tower and look out over the land, like the ancient kings and priests would have done centuries before. But that opportunity is gone. The buildings are cold, grey, depressing concrete. The Rock dwarfs the prison in New Dublin, as does the security. Walls, Fences, guard towers, ditches, embankments. No one is escaping from here.

It is where the guards were taking me when I was rescued by Aiden and Ailin. It seems that my fate has decided I need to be here. Like the moths that fly into the candle instead of flicking around it, I have flown into the flame.

Cronan is telling me how he is going to plant a new row of cabbage, how it will provide some variety in out diet. I nod and murmur a few uh huhs.

I have not seen Connor since we arrived and they separated us. If he is still here then I am very concerned for him. The Union soldiers will be harsher and rougher with Connor, since he is a local. It is all I can think of. Will they be beating him? Or torturing him? My biggest fear is that they hijack him, just as Peeta was, by Snow. All because of me. I wish I could find him and rescue him.

Cronan stands and puts his hand on my back. "Not to be worrying; we can talk later when you are not so distracted."

"Uh… sorry Cronan… yes, we can talk again, thank you for telling me about the cabbages."

"The cabbages? Heh heh, that was five minutes ago. Thanks for listening, even if it were with only one ear. We can talk again, there's not much else to do." he says it with a sad smile, then walks toward the vegetable garden that he tends with such care. If he cared for his wife as he cares for the garden, then he was a good choice of spouse, on two counts.

I sit on the bench and watch people do nothing. Watching them, I wonder how they can just sit there day after day, doing nothing. They should exercise, write, draw, help Cronan with the garden. Something. Anything.

The sun passes across the sky, mostly obscured by the clouds that drift across from west to east. The thirty-six other prisoners come and go, at one stage all at the same time for lunch. Cronan checks to see if I want to eat but I am not hungry. Later he brings a green apple. Later still, when the temperature is dropping fast and the light is fading, I realise the apple is still on the bench, uneaten, and I have done nothing the whole day. Just like the others. I promise myself I will not let this happen again.


	19. Chapter 19

Day 21 - Alone

It has been three weeks since I said goodbye to my family but it feels like three months. I close my eyes to remember what it feels like to hug my children, to smell their freshly washed hair.

We did everything together. Living in District 12, away from other people, we depended on each other for so much. Especially me. The children went to school, Peeta went to work. I stayed at home.

Friendships were never my strong-point, I never made an effort to visit people or enquire after them, even my mother. I didn't see the point. When life is difficult the last thing I would want is other people asking how I am. Do I lie and say everything is fine, or do I tell them the truth. Would that bore them? Do they really care?

Truth be told, I was scared. Living in 12 was easier that facing the world. I could avoid dealing with people always wanting something from me. I was the Mockingjay, but they expected more than I was. It was inevitable that they would be disappointed in me. They would discover I was just human, nothing special. In fact, I was insignificant. The world carried on without me. Nothing I did really mattered. Compared to the time of the revolution, my life was empty, except for my family.

My trip to the Capitol proved that nothing had changed. All those people living lives I abhorred, living to excess. Even after Snow was deposed and everyone was free, the people did not change for the better. The people from the Districts that moved to the Capitol were absorbed into the lifestyle. The revolution meant nothing.

Everything I lost in the revolution was for nothing. People in the Districts were still poor and the people in the Capitol were wealthy. They controlled the economy. The District representatives that went there benefitted, but those who remained in the District stayed poor. Sure, there were projects to create schools and some factories, give a few people small farms. It was pittance compared to what they had in the city.

Peeta and I were forever damaged. They do not understand what we went through for them. I used to think Peeta was more affected. At one stage it was true, directly after we came back to 12. As we grew older, and the children arrived, he recovered. Maybe not completely, but he went to work when they cut our allowances. Me, I couldn't accept. People were blind to the issues. I had no one to talk with. Prim was gone, taken so young. My beautiful Prim. Gale left, made his own life. Peeta was doing so well, I did not want to pull him down. I was alone.

I sit on my bench, thinking my sacrifice is not yet over. My only regret is my children are affected. When my father died in the coalmine, it devastated my family. Mother would sit on her chair the whole day and do nothing. I had to look after us, find food. That is something I swore would not happen. I would never let me family live without parents. I would never sit in my house and do nothing.

I wonder where Connor is. Is he in pain? What are they doing to him? Is he even alive? He did so much for me; he saved my life in the farmhouse. It is my past come back to haunt me. Everyone who helps me dies. People around me always pay with their lives, and I pay with sacrifice. Which is better? Right now I wish the former was my path.

The afternoon is fading. The wind has come up and everyone, including Cronan, head inside. What did I do today? The answer is nothing. Just like my mother, when my father died. I promise myself I will not let this happen again.


	20. Chapter 20

Day 22 - Connor

"Katniss! Come here girl!"

It is Cronan, walking toward me. I should say hobbling. He is flustered, going as fast as his old legs will carry him, so I rise from the bench and walk toward him.

"What is it?" I ask as we meet.

"There is a man! A man! They brought him to the men's quarters. The gate has remained shut all day..."

A man? Another prisoner? Why is that important? Why is he telling me? I am about to say thank you for telling me, just to be polite when it hits me … Connor! Is he alive? Please, please, let it be Connor!

"Is it Connor?" I do not want to hope too much. "What does he look like?"

Before Cronan can answer, I run across the compound toward the prison building. Through the entrance, I turn left toward the men's quarters. . "Connor! Connor!" I am shouting at no one in particular. A guard steps in front of me but his colleague gestures for him to let me through. To the second guard I pant, "Where is he? Where is he?"

He points toward a door on the left and I burst through it into a small room, a cell. On a metal-framed bed lies a man, unconscious. His head faces away from the door so I cannot see who he is. I stop for a second, suddenly scared of what I might discover. Then I cross the gap to the cot and lean over to see his face.

It is Connor, unconscious, his face bruised, a gash across his cheek. I drop to my knees on the stone floor, tears streaming from my eyes. What have they done to him? It's all because of me. Brushing the hair from his face, I see black rings around his eyes. Are they from exhaustion, or blows, or perhaps both.

"Move out the way, let me take a look." Behind me are Cronan and another prisoner, a young man called Ronan Hughes. Ronan is more a boy than a man but he is decisive and focussed. He steps forward and nudges me out the way. He gently rolls Connor onto his back and starts to check the bruises. Cronan wraps an arm around me but I step away as his shaking arm is a distraction.

"Is there something you can do? Do you have medication? Morphling?"

Ronan looks at me and shakes his head. "What is morphling? No matter, we have no supplies, only the wardens have medication. Ask the guards."

"I'll go, you stay with him," says Cronan.

"Thank you," I say it with sincerity and Cronan smiles broadly before turning and leaving the room. I hear him talking to the guards but my focus is on Connor and cannot make out the words.

Ronan undoes the buttons on Connor's torn shirt and starts to check his torso.

"I think the ribs are intact, there is minimal bruising there. Help me remove the shirt."

I do as instructed, nervous at what we will find. We gently remove the shirt so that Ronan can complete his inspection. When he gets to the waist, he starts to undo the trousers, then stops and looks at me expectantly.

"I've seen worse, carry on," I say, and start to help him remove the trousers. With Connor lying in just his underwear, we have a full view of the wounds that the soldiers inflicted on Connor. He has taken a severe beating. There are bruises up and down his legs, on his arms, his face.

There is a sharp intake of breath from Ronan and then I see what he is looking at. Connor's hands are curled like claws, but unnaturally so. It looks like some of the fingers are broken. The agony of that must have been intense. How could he survive this punishment?

Cronan appears with a prison medic. The medic cannot hide his shock at Connor's appearance. Muttering under his breath he starts taking equipment, bottles and bandaging out of a first aid kit. Ronan is standing next to him and starts to pull more packets out the kit.

"Andare. Andare. Out. You go out," says the medic, flapping his hands, ushering us out the cell.

"Check the hands," says Ronan, pointing at Connor's hands. Then he turns and gently coaxes me out of the room, followed by Cronan.

"There's nothing we can do. The medic is a good man; he has always done his best for us. Let him work," says Ronan, then directs Cronan to arrange cha.

I am emotionally drained, too numb to argue. I have only known him a few days, but Connor is my only contact to a world outside this prison. I need him back, I need a connection, or I fear I may never get out, that I will lose myself.

They take me out of the men's quarters and Cronan leaves us to make cha. Ronan takes my hand and secretly puts a bottle of pills in my hand. He must have stolen them from the medic when he was pulling the packets out. "These will calm you, will help you sleep too. Take two with water now, and then have some cha." He looks into my eyes with kindness. "He will recover. It will take time though. He is probably mentally traumatised and possibly has some internal damage, as well as his hands being damaged, but he will live."

"Thank you. Thank you for helping."

"There wasn't much I could do. We just do not have the equipment."

He sits with me in silence, holding my hand. For such a young man Ronan has extensive knowledge of medicine. I mean to ask him how at some stage, but right now I cannot focus on much. Cronan comes back with a tray with three mugs that are splashing as much cha as they are retaining. He joins us on the bench and we all sit sipping the steaming, sweet, soothing cha. It is bizarre; sitting with two strangers, drinking cha, the physical contact as Ronan held my hand, it is all comforting. I find myself at peace for a few minutes.

Connor is a connection to the outside world but the people I am sitting with are my new world. I want to get back to my family but no one, according to Cronan, has ever escaped the Rock. Do I fight to escape or do I accept my fate. My heart is telling me to fight, my mind is telling me to accept reality. In my deepest heart I want to fight, but I do not know how. The Capitol was brutal, but the Union is cold and hard, almost emotionless.

How do I fight against an enemy I cannot see? Even here in the prison we hardly see guards, although I know they are watching us. During the Games and the rebellion we knew our enemy, we could fight against them. I don't know how to do this!


	21. Chapter 21

Day 26 - Lost

Four days have passed since Connor appeared and I still have not spoken to him. The medic who attended him had him moved to the clinic wing and although other prisoners have caught glimpses of him when they went for medication, he has not been able to speak to anyone.

The tablets Ronan stole for me are almost finished. I took the two he suggested at the time, then another two that night. They calmed me as he said, and I have slept well each night. I cannot remember if I dreamed or not. I have enough for two days, if I take two morning and night. I am not sure what will happen when they are finished.

I find myself lying in my cell, looking at the ceiling, for hours. My eyes trace patterns in the mould on the walls, in the seams between the blocks. My mind makes pictures from the different shades. I see animals, trees, people's faces. I start to see my family. Jewel is on the far wall, past my feet between two patches in the paintwork. Stone is on the wall to the left, defined by the different colours of the bricks. Peeta is overhead, shaped in a water stain, but only if I blur my vision.

Five of the seventeen people in the prison are women. We have our own quarters, away from the men. The women range between 30 and 60 years of age. Despite my self-imposed solitude, they have looked after me, bringing me food and water. One older woman, Maeve, insisted I go outside yesterday. The weather was nice with clear skies for a change. It was not long before I went back to cell. Without the clouds, there was nothing with which to make images.


	22. Chapter 22

Day 31 – A visitor

A guard comes into my cell, interrupting my feigned sleep.

"Wake up."

I lie on my bed, ignoring him. He will go away soon.

Against expectation he persists. "Wake up." Then he kicks the frame of my bed, which has the desired effect because I sit up.

I look at him, working out how I can stand and hit him before he reacts, but then sanity prevails and I just stand up. He has an electric stick in his hand. One touch and I would be incapacitated. Not that I would mind that, it is just the pain that lingers for hours afterward that I choose to avoid.

"Follow me," he orders.

He marches out the room without a backward glance, fully expecting obedience. I follow, too tired to resist again. My tablets ran out and I have had three sleepless nights since. I tried to get some more from the clinic but they refused.

I left home thirty-one days ago. A whole month since I saw them. Peeta. Jewel. Stone. The Union brought me to this prison fifteen days ago. They dumped a virtually lifeless Connor nine days ago, although I have not seen him since. I'm never getting out of this prison.

We walk into a section of the prison I have not been in before, through wide corridors that show the original building blocks, then down a long flight of stairs, 30 stairs in total, along a tunnel and up more stairs until I think we are in the Administration building. The guard leads me through a locked door and into a room with a table and two chairs in the middle. The chairs stand slightly apart from the table, as if the previous occupants left them when they stood, not bothering to put the chair in the right place. For some reason it irritates me and I move them both into the correct position, seat under the table.

The door clicks shut and I turn to see I am alone. Good, no need to talk to anyone. There is no handle on the inside of the door. No one inside the room can leave without assistance. The paint on the wall is a depressing darkish grey, the two overhead lights glare with a stark white colour, devoid of warmth.

A large mirror dominates the far wall. It must be a one-way mirror. That is how they know to open the door. Who is behind it watching me, I wonder. I walk over to mirror and, cupping my hands around my face to block the light, I put my face against the mirror. Something moves behind the mirror but it is too dark on the other side to see clearly.

The door opens, then footsteps, and the door closes. The footsteps are light, I cannot hear if the person behind me is male or female. Men usually have heavier steps. I turn around and there is immediately something familiar about this person. Dressed in a grey uniform, he almost blends with the wall. He is short for a man, shorter than me. He stands with feet apart and arms behind his back. Someone I know?

The grey cap casts a dark shadow across his eyes so the contrast prevents me from seeing his face properly. This is a Otwa uniform. I walk halfway toward him until I am standing next to the table. How did they find me? If they were going to send someone to rescue me, why not someone that I know? Peeta would have come. I know that!

"Who are… have you come… why are you here?"

He stands silent, not responding to the questions.

"Have you come to take me home?" I ask, starting to feel a little desperate. Surely a person from Panem would be here to take me home. Why not talk to me?

He takes off his cap with his left hand and tosses it onto the table. The light shows his face, his expression. I recognise him immediately. Why is he here? Because he was closest to Ireland?

"Coin!"

I take a few steps back and to the side, positioning the table between us. Something feels wrong with this. He is watching me with those piercing eyes. I previously thought they were green eyes but now they look grey. Maybe it is all the grey in the room, reflected in his eyes. And as they look at me I see the malice, the hatred. He knows! He knows I killed his mother. No! No! No! He is not here to rescue me. Oh no!

My leg bumps the chair next to me and I draw it out to sit quickly before I fall from shock. He continues to stare at me, not taking his eyes off mine. Since I turned, the only movement he has made was to throw his cap on the table. Now he walks forward to stand near me. Looking down at me, he continues to stare. He has taken a dominant position but I am incapable of reacting.

"Hello Katniss. I trust you are well."

I cannot answer. My mind is devoid of thought. It is as if he has shot me in the stomach. There is a gnawing sensation there, as if I haven't eaten for days.

"You are wondering why I am here. Aren't you?" His expression has not changed at all, like a carving from a block of wood, no, a block of stone. The deep voice resonates in the room, creating a palpable tension.

"Katniss Everdeen. The Mockingjay. The murderer! The girl who ruined the life of a young boy. Did you really think I don't know what happened to my mother? She was President, and you killed her! You destroyed everything for which she worked. More than that, you took my mother from me!" He has taken two steps forward, fury coursing through his body, his voice shaking as he spits out the words.

He steps away suddenly, walking to the other end of the table and leaning on the other chair. He takes a deep breath to calm himself.

"Well, here you are in prison, finally paying for your crimes. My friends in the Union are going to make sure you stay here the rest of your life." He pauses, waiting for a response but I am unable to talk. There is too much going through my head for me to clarify a single thought into a word.

"This is better. I wanted you dead. I wanted you to die, like my mother. But this is better. It will give you time to think," he nods his head, as if agreeing with himself for the first time. "Funny how fate works, isn't it. Do you want to know how you got here? No? Come on, it is a great story."

Coin pulls a vid-caster from his jacket pocket and puts it on the table next to his cap. Then he sits and puts his feet up on the table, making sure he can still see my face. Pulling a cigar from his front pocket, he starts an intricate process of cutting the tip and igniting it with a gold lighter, puffing ceremoniously. I am unable to stop watching the hypnotic routine.

"The day I lost my mother. That's the day I decided to take revenge. How does a ten-year-old boy make a decision like that? Do you know what it is like, having your world destroyed? Watching your mother die on television?To lose you only remaining parent? How could you? You have no gratitude for what you received, what you have. No appreciation."

I cannot respond. Any revelation about my father, my sister, about my own great loss, would anger him. He would see it as trying to diminish his own pain. So I stay silent.

"My mother was a great woman. She built District 13 into a power again. When she became President District 13 was dying. The idiot before her let the Union into the base. They were there to help us overthrow the Capitol. We would not have needed the pathetic Districts. They brought disease with them, but they caught diseases themselves. People died in their thousands, from 13 and the Union both. She saved the rest of the people, and then built 13 up again. She took people from the other Districts in, built the population up. But it wasn't enough. We needed more. So she devised a plan to start a revolution with the weaker Districts. Then you came along. What a coincidence, just as revolution was brewing you decided to eat some berries, take all the credit."

"My mother destroyed the Capitol, not you. Stupid little girl that you were, running around in a costume, pretending to be a leader. Then, just when she had victory, you murdered her. You could not be President, so you killed the only person who deserved to be."

His fury has subsided. The words are flowing because they are memorised. How many times has he practised this speech? He has planned this for a long, long time. As he soliloquises the real person comes to the fore.

"I started that very day. I promised myself I would take revenge. It has taken twenty-six years. Do you understand what dedication that takes? No, you cannot. You, who hid away from the world in District 12. Let me tell you, so you understand. For years I studied, I worked, I served. Everything I did was to become President. When Paylor changed the system I did not give up like you did. I worked out another way. Certain people in District 13 who opposed me disappeared; others were humiliated and lost power. Working my way up to the council was easy. Easier still was convincing the Council that we needed our own President. The councillors were all convinced, 13 had the right. We freed the other Districts. It was our right to rule."

Coin takes his feet off the table and stands up. He leans toward me, fists on the table, cigar smouldering. "Once I became President I had the power to aim for my real target - Katniss Everdeen. The Girl on Fire. The Mockingjay. My first thought was to burn you. That would have been good. Really see the girl on fire. Was that enough though? The biggest challenge was how to get to you. The Capitol still had enough resources to defend the Districts. So I had to get you out."

All the time he has been talking I haven't moved, but I have started thinking. My fear has subsided, my shock overcome. There is no point me saying anything, it will only anger him. I need to work out how to use this opportunity.

He puffs on his cigar, a self-satisfied look on his face as he thinks of his next words.

"This was pure genius. If you had thought of it, you would have to tell someone. I found the old recording of Farrell Laughlin. Quite by chance, I admit, quite by chance. You know, it is not what you have, but how you use it, that counts most. It was obvious. The do-gooders in the Senate would want to help. They would want to send someone, and that someone would have to be you. How could it not happen? Engineering the mission was simple. Of course, you would refuse to go. You would be too scared to leave 12. Pushing you over the edge would be easy. I arranged for one of our loyal District 13 people to compromise your relationship."

"The girl at the party … Manda …," I cannot stop myself from saying it. Coin has manipulated me. This is his entire fault. I am here, in this prison, because of him.

He laughs aloud, "Yes, that's right. Well done for working it out. A bit late though. I wanted to kill you when I first lay eyes on you, in my own District. That would have been bad for my people. Then that idiot Senator somehow manoeuvred and flew you all the way to Ireland. My belief was that we would destroy you in the northern wilds. Our hovercraft followed you all the way to Ireland and blew up the two Panem craft. No survivors!"

He raises his arms in a triumphant gesture. "Can you imagine my joy when I heard the news? No survivors! Then word reached us from the Union, they had captured two survivors. My disbelief was short-lived. Of course Katniss Everdeen would survive. Of course. Another plan formed. My friends in the Union agreed to help. They would keep you in prison for me. We have a strong partnership, the Union and 13. We at 13 honour our true friendships. When we take over Panem the Union will be at our side, and we will help them in other matters." He sits down again, seemingly satisfied with what he has shared. Does he expect respect? Admiration?

I am not the only target he has. Power is what he cherishes most. "It wasn't your mother you missed, it was the status. I doubt you care for anyone. Even your mother."

A growl erupts from Coin as he launches himself forward, half way along the table. "Don't you speak about her! Don't!" Suddenly he stops, composes himself. His hands are shaking with anger but he fights to calm himself before speaking again.

"Katniss, you will spend the rest of your life in this prison. I wanted you dead, but this, this is better. It is better because I am going to make you suffer. You want to see your family. Well, I am here to make that happen. This is what happened when we told them you died in the fight between your two commanders."

Turning to the vid-caster on the table, he rotates it and activates it so that I see the images.

The picture shows Peeta and the children, sitting in our living room on a sofa. Haymitch is standing next to the sofa, leaning on a walking stick. A senior military woman is talking to them. "Senator Mellark. I must apologise for the delay but we finally have some news. Can we talk in front of the children? … It's not … Certainly, Senator. At oh-five-hundred this morning, we received word from Otwa Command. There has been an incident. Both craft are lost... I am sorry … there were no survivors. It is a great loss to all Panem. I know that is no consolation…"

Her monologue continues but I hear none of it. Peeta's face goes white as he stares in disbelief at the officer. The children look at him, confused. "Daddy?" that is Stone. "Daddy? What does she mean?" That is Jewel, although the look on her face shows she comprehends but does not want to believe.

Haymitch sits down on the edge of the sofa, almost as if he collapsed, shaking his head. "Oh my God! Not Katniss! No! Not Katniss." He reaches over to Peeta and puts his hand on Peeta's shoulder.

Peeta is crying, hugging the children into his chest. "Is mommy coming home? Daddy? Daddy?" Jewel starts to cry too, her little body leans into Peeta, her arms going around both Stone and Peeta. Stone is bewildered because everyone is crying around him. "Where is mommy? Where is my mommy? I want mommy to come home now." Peeta can only shake his head and mouth the word 'No' repeatedly. The ability to vocalise has left him completely; he tries but nothing comes from his open mouth except a sob.

I have fallen forward to the table. On my knees, pawing at the vid, trying to touch my family, trying to comfort them, I cannot hold back my tears. The pain on their faces! My hand goes through the vid and I panic momentarily that the image is breaking up, but it is my own hand obscuring the picture. Their pain breaks me and I feel the tears in my eyes accompanied by a dry constriction in my throat. "Peeta! Peeta, I'm OK, I'm alive! I'm alive!, I'm here... I'm here…," I say, but they cannot hear me. I can only watch their pain, feel it mirrored in me.

After breaking the image a few times with my hand I stop trying to touch them. Although it is obvious that it is impossible, I still want to touch them, comfort them, tell them I am alive, and disperse their pain away. Instead, all I can do is watch their pain and feel it with them. Then the vid loops and I hear the officer repeating the message. The horror on their faces pounds at my mental strength, as the children look at Peeta for an explanation I look for my own. From the corner of my eye I see Coin smiling, enjoying the pain he has caused. The look in his eyes brings to mind the look of his mother as I strode out to end one dictatorship but instead ended two. A look that says 'I have won, I am better than you all." I can do it again, for a third time!

His mother's troops taught me well. Using the table for balance, I swivel clockwise, bringing my right foot around and hammering his left knee with a back-kick. The crunch as the knee disintegrates and the leg bends backward ninety degrees precedes a howl of pain. The metallic smell of blood hits me as it gushes out his knee. As Coin crumples toward the floor I reposition my balance points, then bring my left foot around in a roundhouse kick to the chest, driving the back of his head into the table. He hits the floor unconscious.

If it is the last thing I do, I will kill him. I launch myself onto him and clamp his head between my hands, intending to break his neck. With a loud bang the door bursts open, hitting the wall, and a soldier fires a weapon at me, knocking me back and off Coin. The surge of energy through my body frazzles my nerves, rendering me unable to move, except for twitches, like those of a dead chicken.

Shouting echoes around the room, people come in and rush Coin's limp body out the room. Two people in grey uniforms stand over me. One slaps my face and then kicks me in the ribs. I hear but do not feel the crack of at least one rib as blood invades my mouth, leaving a metallic taste. The other person, a woman, stands on my hand with a heavy boot, applying a twisting downward force, but I cannot feel the damage that she is inflicting. As I slide into unconsciousness, I wonder if I will see Connor in the clinic.


	23. Chapter 23

Day 34 - Hospital

The medics coax me out of induced sleep after three days. I wish they left me there to continue dreaming of summer days swimming by the lake, teaching Stone how to swim while Jewel splashes around us laughing, and Peeta lounges on the bank of our lake, at peace with the world and himself. The look on his face, a soft smile, squinting eyes, was the happiest I had ever seen him.

Now that I am awake, enormous pain tears into me with every breath, every movement, so I try breathing shallow breaths. My head throbs with every heartbeat, although I cannot remember anyone hitting me. The biggest concern is my left hand, which is elevated on a pulley above my body. The pain is intense because the medication has worn off. When the medic unwrap the bandages, the hand is twice the size of the other. I remember the woman standing on it, twisting her boot. If I see her again she will suffer.

Then I remember Coin. His scream echoes in my mind, I see him crumple, see his head hit the table, smell his over-sweet perfume. Is he alive? I hope not. He is far more dangerous than I realised when I first met him. We were wary of Otwa when we were still travelling north but we under-estimated him. He has a depth of cunning and ambition, linked with a need for revenge, a combination that is exceedingly dangerous. The cruelty in his face when he showed me the vid remains etched in my memory.

I have to escape; somehow, I have to escape. My family is in trouble. Whether Coin is alive or not there will be revenge against me and mine. If Coin is alive then he may go after my family. If he is not, then the people of Otwa will want revenge. Losing two President Coins in succession will require retribution, and they have ample resources. They have even engineered the disarmament of the other Districts. It is certain they will go straight for District 12. It is close to Otwa and it is where my family lives. At least I think they still live there. Would Peeta have taken the children to the Capitol? For the first time I think it would be best for them to relocate.

The same medic who looked after Connor comes in to check my vital signs, and then presses a device against my arm that injects minute droplets of a medication through my skin into the blood stream. The sedative works within a minute. The stark clinic room start to blur into a single light-source and I smile, thinking I should thank the medic for sending my back to the lake.


	24. Chapter 24

Day 36 - Recuperation

The ward I am in reminds me of the hospital area in Otwa, when I first arrived. The facilities are limited and I am kept isolated. They keep me sedated most of the time. For days I want to escape to the lake, but every time I go there I delay my real escape. I need to be back in Panem. I need to find Connor. If I am to escape, I need help. And I need to find Shar.

The next time the medic tries to inject me I pull my arm away.

"It help … pain," he suggests gently, missing words like a small child, but I shake my head.

"Please, let me stay awake… I cannot stay here," I whisper.

The medic looks around at the door and window, then pretends to administer the medication, his dark brown eyes locked on mine as he does so.

I mouth the words 'Thank you' to him.

"Your friend is a two door," he whispers. He leaves the room to continue his work, looking back once.

It is dark before I think it is safe to leave my bed. I pretended to be sleeping even when they brought food. The way the medic looked around earlier makes me think we are under surveillance. I cannot see any cameras but that does not mean they are not there. Taking a chance I pad out my door and done the corridor to the second door.

Connor's door is open. It may be that the medic left the doors open as other doors are closed. If so then I owe him a debt of gratitude. Entering the room is a nervous moment for me. Will Connor be asleep? Will he even be here? Yes, there he is. He looks different because they have left him unshaven.

He is asleep on his hospital bed. Next to the bed is a bank of monitors, although none is on. That is a good sign, I think. If they are not monitoring him that means he is recovering. There are no lights on but the full moon casts enough light to see clearly. Connor look peaceful, his head propped up by an over-size pillow, his arms lying on top of the blanket, along his body. Even in the pale light, I can see he is much thinner. What happened that he could lose this much weight.

I stand next to his bed, looking down at him. Why did this man help me? He has paid a high price for doing so. It irritated me when he first flirted with me. Now I wish he were awake and able to do so again. He deserved better than this, beaten and imprisoned by the Union because of me.

I lean over and kiss him on the forehead.

"I knew you'd kiss me sooner or later," he says.

The sound gives me such a fright I almost scream, just managing to keep it in. "You… you…," I want to curse him but instead I say, "You should have said something earlier."

"And miss a kiss from a beautiful woman?" he whispers the words weakly, a mischievous tone in his voice.

"Well, you must feel better if you are thinking of kissing," I respond, feeling indignant.

"I do. They are releasing me into the main prison soon."

"That isn't good. Once you are there, they watch you permanently. If we are here we could still have a chance to escape."

"No Katniss, there is no chance of escape. Nobody has escaped from the Rock."

"I cannot afford to believe that, I need to get home… They will kill my family."

Connor must see something in my expression, or hear something in my voice, because he raises himself into a sitting position. I can see his is still struggling with his hands. He cannot even use them to push himself up.

"What do you mean? Who will kill them?"

"I had a visitor from Panem." A raised eyebrow shows I have piqued his interest. "I will tell you later, but he wasn't a friendly visitor. I need to get back. As quickly as possible."

Connor shakes his head sadly. "I understand Katniss, and I am sorry. The truth is, whether we are in the hospital wing or the main prison, we cannot escape from here. When people come in here they are never seen again."

I know he is being truthful and means well but I refuse to accept his words. "Connor, I have done things in my life that no other has. I do not care if no one has ever escaped from here, I will. And you are coming with me."

My defiant words leave him quiet. His face is expressionless. He stares into my eyes in the pale light for what seems an age before responding. "You are determined; I will give you that… I believe you will escape Katniss. I do." He reaches out and touches my hand softly. Is he being gentle or protective of his own injuries? "We can work out a way. We'll get you to your family."


	25. Chapter 25

Day 39 - Release

As I did last night, when the lights go out I sneak around to Connor's room. This time he is awake, anticipating my arrival, but there is no kiss, much to his disappointment.

After some small talk, I broach the topic of his torture. I know first-hand how painful it can be to remember but it can be cathartic to talk about it. I have spent twenty-six years with Peeta. Hijacked by the Capitol, Peeta had uncontrollable reactions for so many years. Even now, a quarter century later, Peeta still struggles. So I recognise the painful expression that crosses Connor's face. Perhaps he had tried to forget about it and this is the first time he has thought about the ordeal.

"Talk about it, it helps. I know," I say encouragingly.

Connor recognises my sincerity but hesitates. Trusting me is one thing, trusting his ability to recount the painful experience is another completely. He starts slowly, trying to describe the events in sequence, but the hardest parts are most prominent in his mind and they keep breaking his train of thought. It is a distressing rambling through the events, but Connor is brave and he persists. His voice quivers, croaks and at times completely disappears, the sound of it projecting the pain of his torture at the hands of the wardens.

When he has finished describing his ordeal we are both in tears. I stay quiet during his revelation, my tears sliding silently down my cheeks, touching the corners of my mouth. The saltiness makes them more real, more tangible, makes me more sympathetic. Connor's tears are a minor side effect only. The recounting of the torture manifests itself through physical spasm and sobs, his body heaving as each sob purges a part of the pain.

I end up wrapping both arms around him, cocooning him from the rest of the world, attempting to provide comfort. Nothing external will change him, but a strong, supportive energy can help a person find the courage inside to work through the psychological trauma. When Connor is through most of the pain, I sneak into the aid station and find the sedative injector. Connor slips quickly into a tranquil sleep. I hope he has no dreams.


	26. Chapter 26

Day 40 – Prison life

A doctor releases both Connor and me from the clinic the next day. We limp into the compound together with me holding his arm to assist with his balance.

Connor's physical injuries are far worse than mine are. I have a broken rib from the kick and my index and forefinger are broken from where the Otwa officer trampled on my hand. The skin on the back of my hand was also torn. The medical team has done an amazing job to repair the skin and reinforce the bones with metal tubes. They showed me scans of the hand. The tubes resemble lacing on a shoe, except they circumvent the phalanges, strands criss-crossing each other. The rib will take longer to heal as they are missing the expensive equipment needed to accelerate the healing.

Connor, on the other hand, has extensive trauma. One knee has a broken patella, repaired in the medical centre but requiring lengthy recuperation. Cuts and bruises cover most of his body but the torturers have skilfully avoided marking his face or neck. The worst damage is on his hands. He too has the criss-cross tubes, but on both hands. Six fingers on total required repair. During his time in the medical centre he was fed but he has lost weight as well.

There is immediate interest from some of the other prisoners. Three men that have avoided me up until now walk over, their attention on Connor. Two are young but the third is much older, in his fifties.

"Connor Rourke. It's a pity to be seeing you here," says the oldest of the three, "I thought you would stay hidden for longer."

"And I am truly sorry to see that you are in here, Ryan, I had hoped you had escaped to one the other islands. Although it is good for me to see my comrades again," he replies, obviously contradicted in his emotions.

"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Katniss Everdeen. Katniss, these are Ryan, Ronan and Connor," Connor says quite formally, pointing to the older man first and then the two younger men. "We are definitely running out of names," he continues with a smile.

"Hello," I say, a little embarrassed that I do not know two of them after being here for three weeks already. Ronan, of course, helped with Connor when they dumped him in the cell.

"Ronan helped get you medical treatment," I tell Connor, trying to put in a good word for him.

Connor thanks Ronan with a nod. It seems such a small gesture is enough. Neither spoken word nor shake of the hand is required. Men!

"So what is the lay of the land?" asks Connor.

Ryan takes Connor's other arm and together we help him to a cluster of three benches hear Cronan's gardens. We all sit down and Ryan says something in Irish. Connor looks at me and then says to Ryan, "English, so we can all understand."

"We must start in Irish, there is something that must be said first."

Connor again looks at me and is about to argue but I shake my head and stand. I walk away toward the northern wall.

For the first time I look at my prison. For the first time in three weeks, I actually see what is around me. What was wrong with me that I did not even see my surroundings? I sis not look at the people, the buildings, the area in which we are allowed to roam.

There are other people scattered around the compound, alone or in groups of two or three, with the exception of Connor's group where there are four men. There is very little movement, although all are interested in what is happening where Connor is sitting. A new arrival is major news in such a small community.

The Rock towers above a vast vista of farmland to the north and water to the east. Cronan told that me before the seas rose the entire area, as far as one could see, was land. Below the seas there are unseen buildings, old houses, farms and cathedrals. In the distance to the north, the direction I am facing, there are mountains, perhaps thirty kilometres away. The day is overcast but the mountains are distinct shapes on the horizon. It is strange that the Rock stands so high over an otherwise flat area.

The compound has a physical barrier all around it. An ancient stone wall, running nearly 400 metres, in a roughly oval shape, the points of which face southwest and northeast. Around the wall stands a double row of four-metre high wire fences, electrified and dotted with sharp barbs. Climbing the fences would be nigh impossible. I wonder how they keep the fences electrified if there is no electricity for the populace.

In the centre of the compound is a large building complex, in the shape of a cross. The original buildings are made of stone but the Union has reinforced the walls with modern concrete, flat and hard. The reinforcement goes up to four metres, perhaps to stop anyone climbing. The original structure is still visible and looks intricate, with faux arches and carving on the corners. The people of old put care into each facet they built.

The additions cannot hide the magnificence of the original structure. Modern roofing provides protection from the elements. The prison cells, kitchens, clinic and other prison areas are in the main building, under hung ceilings. The quarters for the prison guards and the administration buildings are a new structure located at the South West corner of the complex. The structure is a vast modern structure that looks out of place amidst the craftsmanship.

The Rock feels old and would have been a wonder to behold in times past. The compound where we spend many days still shows this. Dotted around the grassed areas are the graves of ancient people. Of particular interest are the crosses with circles. Cronan told me, when I first arrived, that they were called High Crosses. The elements have eaten away at the surfaces but some detail is visible. How beautiful they would have been.

In the northwest corner stands a high guard tower, built from the ubiquitous grey concrete. The entrance is not visible; there must be a tunnel under the ground. I will have to ask Cronan if he knows when they built it. If there is one tunnel perhaps there can be more. Perhaps we can dig another to get out.

Towers provide a view of all boundary walls. The admin building in the southwest corner has a guard tower that has line of sight to the northwest and southeast corners. The northwest tower has the same, except from the other side. Cameras project from each tower, pointed along the walls, outside the walls and across the compound.

I look out through the fence across the plain, facing north. I walk along the fence until I am near the administration building. If I could look far enough southwest, I would be able to see home, see my children. Instead I see a foreign country, a land not my own. Why am I here? I regret the day I made the decision to come. Manipulated by Coin and the people from Otwa.

"Katniss!"

I turn to see Connor waving at me, so I head back to where he is sitting with the other three. The rest are watching Connor, expecting him to say something. From their expressions, it looks like something important that they are nervous to raise. We are all in prison, what can be that important. I can only think 'escape'.

"Katniss, thank you for coming over. The boys want to hear your story. They want to know about how you helped with the rebellion, how you freed your people. Can you tell us? I haven't heard the story in full; I would like to hear it as well," Connor says.

I look at them all with shock. How can they think of something so far, in both time and distance, when we cannot do anything without getting out of here first? They have their priorities mixed up. Mine are to escape, find Shar, and get us back to 12, get my family to safety. My last priority is to warn Panem about Coin and Otwa.

"Shouldn't we be talking about escaping instead of entertaining each other with past adventures?" I ask, unable to hide my frustration.

They all look around in panic, then back at me. "Katniss, there are cameras and microphones; you cannot talk like that out loud. Joseph was the last person to start planning an escape and he was taken away, we do not know where…," says Ryan under his breath.

Before I take out my frustration on the men around me, I walk away. Expecting them to drive my agenda would not be fair. If I cause a disturbance then the guards may notice and may punish us all. I cannot think, however, of anything else. My desperation to save my family drives me to find an escape from this place.

A perimeter reconnaissance over the next hour provides no evidence that there is any way to get past the walls. The walls themselves are low but the double fence is too high and looks impenetrable without explosives or machinery. The gate area is the only access point and it is heavily guarded. The gates themselves are five metres high and made of thick metal. The guard towers have no access points from the inside of the prison. Although there is grass covering much of the compound, I can see there is rock underneath. We will not be able to tunnel under the walls.

When I have completed a full circuit of the compound, I go back to where Connor is sitting with Ryan, his only remaining companion. My demeanour is calmer now. I am sure they have probably completed the same process that I have just done. Sitting down on the ground next to Connor's bench so that the cameras on the guard tower have no view of me, I launch into an apology, only for Ryan to stop me.

"No need Katniss. And don't worry, we will come up with something. We all have family...," Ryan says, looking into my eyes with a depth of understanding that surprises me. What is it with these Irishmen? Farrell, Connor, and now Ryan. They all seem to know exactly what I am thinking.

"Now, let's get Connor in, the rain is not good for his recovery," says Ryan.

Realisation hits that it has been drizzling for a while and we are all wet and cold. My pre-occupation with escaping has blocked everything else from my focus. Together we help Connor move to the central building, where we find hot cha before I retire to the women's quarters to find a hot shower and try to wash my disappointment and frustration away, without success.


	27. Chapter 27

Day 81 – Spring Day

It is Spring Day today, according to Cronan. Not that it makes a difference to me. My day always starts with a run around the perimeter of the compound that lasts until I am close to retching. I thought my fitness was good, going out hunting in the woods and spending time in our meadow. With all the activity of my first month in Ireland one would think I would be fitter. The first day of running proved that idea wrong. I made it around the perimeter, a little over three hundred metres, once.

Since then I have improved rapidly, adding one lap per day, increasing the number of laps to thirty per day over a 30-day period. My speed has increase as well so that no one who joins me can keep up. Ronan is running separately to improve as well; I imagine he wants to beat me one day. I run barefoot; the staff gave no response to my repeated requests for flexible shoes. No matter the weather I run. It helps to keep me focussed on my goals.

I also know every metre of the perimeter. There is a softer hollow fifty metres to the west of the northern guard tower. It is not visible to the eyes, just a slight dip where the wall looks less stable. At the Western corner is a join in the wall, it looks like someone has repaired it badly many times. Each guard tower had cameras about a metre above the ground. The guards raised them the night after I knocked them out of alignment for the third time. The inner gate has automated locks and motors that open it, controlled from inside the Administration building. Outside the gate is an outer gate that is never open at the same time as the inner gate I run past every day.

After my run, I shower and eat breakfast with Maeve but avoid the other female prisoners. They natter about the most arbitrary topics, so I eat quickly and head outside if the weather is good, or even just tolerable. I prefer to be outside than cooped up inside listening to conversations conducted with both Irish and English, the two languages interlaced into a complex weave I cannot follow. Some Irish words I am working out with help from Maeve but the conversations are too rapid for me to follow.

Next on my agenda is a quick check-in with Cronan. With the weather getting warmer as Spring envelopes us, he spends a lot more time outside as well. The warmer weather 'suits his bones', he says. We talk about his gardens and his wife mostly. Sometimes he reminisces about life before prison, more often about life before the Union. My time with Cronan is my sanity check. Cronan has a uniquely upbeat view of his world. Growing vegetables in such a hopeless place is proof of that. Regardless of his situation he persists. Ryan told me that the guards used to trample the plants during the night after they had confined prisoners to the cells. Despite the damage, Cronan would repair the gardens and never complain. The guards stopped after a few months.

Escape is my obsession. In the last month, I have spent most of each day thinking of escape but the frustration of failure is starting to depress me. Each circuit of the wall drums the detail of the perimeter into my brain and reaffirms the impregnability of the perimeter. The confinement to the small prison area is also weighing down heavily on me. Back home in District 12 when we had the fence but we could still get through it. Gale and I could hunt just about any day we wanted. I remember the time I spent in District 13, confined to the underground base. Although District 13 was a base, they prevented me from moving through the base freely. The difference is that when I needed to get out I managed to negotiate time outside. I also think of my father, trapped underground in a confined space with no way to escape, a fate that ultimately took his life. Although I can walk around the compound, it is limited. This place is more like the mine that my father died in than the District 13 base. I think about escape every day, every hour, every minute, trapped in my thoughts, unable to consider other people, other topics. How do I get out? I do not want to die here!

Connor has remained persistent, managing to distract me from my obsession every now and then. Sometimes he pulls me into conversations with others, relying on peer pressure to make me stay. At other times, he will walk with me around the compound and talk to me about home, asking me questions about anything he can think of. At first I thought he was helping me look for weaknesses in the perimeter, but he always walked me clockwise, which is opposite to my running. I always run counter-clockwise. He says he is worried about me, worried about my mental health.

Connor's knee has improved markedly. The clinic staff here are dedicated and knowledgeable, working on his knee daily to help him gain full movement back. They use machines and physical manipulation to force the knee through a full range of motion, then rub creams over the knee and inject him with medication. There is a small pool that he walks around every day. According to the medics, the resistance of the water helps strengthen the knee. I think I would be dizzy if I circled around the pool as much as Connor has.

The staff are very kind to the prisoners but they seem empty. One day as I was sitting patiently in the clinic for a check-up, I watched their dedicated work with Connor. All I could think was what rule or law did they transgress to be posted here, in this backwater. It would have to be something bad; no one would want to come here voluntarily.

The prison guards are virtually invisible to the prisoners. The only time they appear is when one of us acts in a suspicious manner or they bring a new prisoner in. Otherwise, they watch us from the administration block using the cameras that are located strategically around the compound and in the prison building.

A new female prisoner arrived a week ago, guards brutally shoving her into the compound so that she fell on the paved entrance from the administration block. Her athletic physique had an underlying strength that belied her short stature. She had a darker complexion than everyone else does here, with black hair and almost black eyes. Bruises on her face and arms indicated she fought with someone, possibly soldiers or guards. Cronan went to meet her, as Cronan does when someone new comes in, as he did with me. He came back very quickly and asked the women to assist due to the bruises and the fact she could not speak English or Irish.

The other women cared for her and made her feel part of our small community. I took to her immediately and made sure I looked after her. She and I are both foreigners here. Although I am a foreigner within the community at least I have a common language with the others, English. It was difficult for her, not being able to communicate effectively with anyone. Isabella, as we learned her name was, cannot speak English or Irish, only Italian, or 'Italiano', as she says it. From my investigations of the security so far, she is going to be here a long time, just as I will be. There will be sufficient time to learn a new language. Then we will find out why she is here.

The medical team are the only staff we can engage; we do not meet the other staff, ever. Every day the canteen has food ready when we enter the room. Whether it is breakfast, lunch, or dinner, the food is always prepared and served before we enter the room. There is a strict period for meals, if we are not out of the room at the end of the hour a short siren sounds to signal the end of service. Similarly, we must leave our sleeping areas during the cleaning periods. When I asked Maeve why we did not clean our own cells, she laughed. Every time the staff clean the rooms, they also search them for contraband. When I asked why she thought the idea was amusing she answered with a question: "How would we get any contraband into the prison?"


	28. Chapter 28

Day 90 - Coping

Yesterday was the seventieth day of my incarceration; I have not seen my family for three months. Three months! The video that Coin played for me does not count, although it replays in my mind when I close my eyes to sleep. Contradictory thoughts run through my head daily. As I continue to search for an escape I wonder if they want me to. Do they miss me in their daily lives, as I miss them? They go to school and work; they have friends and probably my mother with them.

Life on the Rock is totally different to my family's lives. Here the staff do everything for us, cook, clean, repair. They watch us constantly and intervene whenever they need to in order to maintain the bland environment. Illness, disputes, anything at all, the guards come in and ensure we get back to our routine emptiness. We do not have vids, any form of mental stimulation, no contact with the outside world. The inmates would devour even old printed books, turning pages over and over again, just to hear a different voice.

It is surprising that they let me run. One factor in my favour could be the early start I make. At the start of my run in the morning I am usually the only person outside the buildings, except sometimes Cronan in his gardens. By the end of my run there may be a handful of people walking outside to stretch and see what the weather is like.

The activity of checking weather baffled me at first. If it is raining you can hear it in the cells and immediately know what the conditions are. Otherwise, the weather will be cloudy, and sometimes there is sunshine. Now I understand it was a small act of hope, a hope that perhaps one day they will leave this place, a brief interest in the world outside our walls.

My focus on my family has kept me isolated from the rest of the community, except for a few people with whom I have developed relationships. The others sit around the compound and in the cells all day, doing very little. If I sat with them, I would descend into their lethargy and I cannot afford to do that. I need to stay alert to every opportunity of escape. Ronan seems the most motivated person besides me to keep active. He runs in the evening, when most others are moving inside preparing for the evening meal. After him is Connor, who I walk with at the end of my run. He cannot run yet, but I believe he will soon. Cronan is in his garden every day but, although I have not asked, I believe he has surrendered any hope of ever leaving this place.

My run is a constant forty-three laps now. I increased it by one lap a day until I reached my age. Now I do one lap for every year I have been alive. To start I ran and walked the laps. Mostly walked. When I was first at forty-three laps the run would take more than two hours. Now I am running most of the distance and I estimate the time to be close to one and a half hours. There was a path forming so now I change every day, ensuring there is no routine path. It is part of my mental determination not to develop a permanent routine, not to have a pre-defined path to follow.

Most days I will find Connor and Ronan sitting together talking. The amount these men talk astounds me. By now, I have run out of things to talk about, we have had every conversation I care to enter into. They discuss Ireland, the Union, the weather, the other inmates; the list of conversation topics is endless. Occasionally they will discuss escape under their breaths. This is really the only common ground I choose to have with these people; I care little about the rest. On the days we do cover escape the conversation follows a predictable path: a few ideas, more thoughts on why it won't work, a commitment to keep looking, followed by me walking off to bounce off the groups in the compound, being polite but never staying long. I never go inside, unless the weather is hostile and cruel.

How do I get out of this horror?


	29. Chapter 29

Day 99 - Routine

Ronan runs with me each morning now. His youth helped him catch up and overtake my fitness very quickly. Halfway through our run four white-clad guards step out of the Administration building and block my path. My initial attempt to circumvent them is blocked again by two of them step across and raise their weapons. They stand motionless as we ease up and come to a stop in front of them. One of them silently directs me toward a door in the Administration building with his weapon. In the eighty-three days since I have been here this is the first time a door has opened in the Administration building. Something important is happening and the way they have stopped me bodes ill. The last time a single guard escorted to the facility, now there are three.

After all this time in the Rock, now is the first time I feel like a real prisoner. The four guards surround me and we march to the black-painted steel door that, as the only feature in a vast expanse of pale grey concrete, looks tiny. At the door, two more guards come out and shackle me. At first I resist but a solid warning smack to the back of my head convinces me to acquiesce. As a prisoner without any rights I am sure the number of bruises on my body will incur no backlash from outside.

We proceed into the building as I march at the guard's rapid pace and simultaneously try to get comfortable in the shackles. The shackles are digging in to my wrists and upper arms, where they restrict the ability to use my arms for balance. My footsteps are faster than usual due to the limited movement the ankle-shackles allow, and I must look a sight, almost dancing a wobbly penguin-dance to keep up with them.

In parallel with my physical struggles, my mind is doing a dance of its own. The only reason they could have gone to this trouble is the effect I had on my last visitor. An image of his knee snapping unnaturally backwards reminds me of the last few moments Coin was with me. I see his head soundlessly strike the table top. It must have made a noise, I just cannot remember hearing the impact.

If they are taking this much trouble whomever is visiting is scared of a recurrence and that immediately raises my spirits. By the time we reach the interrogation room there is a large smile on my face. The only effect clipping my shackles to a chair has on me is to make me laugh. Whatever happens, how can they take this small victory away from me?

The room I am in is possibly the same one I was in previously. Possibly but not definitely, as it looks the same but all the corridors outside look like each other as well. The mirror on the one wall is still there, the table and two chairs look identical. My back to the door, if someone comes in I will hear before seeing him or her. The position of my chair prevents me from seeing the door in the mirror. I peer at the side of the table, looking to see if there are any marks where Coin's head hit the table. That humours me as well and I am quietly laughing again when a noise behind me catches my attention. I start to worry, not because there is a noise, but rather because of its encroaching proximity.

I sit still and quiet now, waiting for the person behind me to show themselves, analysing the sounds. In addition to footsteps there is a third noise, a tap. Within seconds I work out the tap is a walking stick. A walking stick used by a person with a damaged leg, perhaps a knee.

"Good morning, it's kind of you to visit again," I say to the emptiness in front of me.

Silence is my only answer so I wait for my visitor to make the next move. When my father first taught me to hunt in the woods, he taught me that animals could feel when you look at them; they could feel your attention. The better approach was to look just next to them, or beyond them, letting your peripheral vision track the animal to avoid forewarning. We practised on each other as well. Father would sit next to a tree and I had to get to him without alerting him to my presence, and then we would swap and see if I could feel him watching me. With practise you can feel someone watching you. Now I can feel the person behind me staring at the back of my head. I want the upper hand so I sit calmly, knowing exactly where and who the person is. I have the upper hand; I can sit all day. After three months in prison, waiting for a few minutes will be simple.

The airflow in the room has not changed so the door must still be open. That makes me want to laugh again, thinking of the visitor's need for protection. Thought of escape also flashes momentarily through my mind but the cut of the shackles as my body reacts to the thought sets that idea to bed immediately. I keep my focus on the far wall with my body motionless, although my bare feet on the cold floor are crying for relief. Because I have no running shoes my feet have hardened and grown accustomed to cold earth, but the concrete is colder than the earth and it is uncomfortable, sucking warmth. I can feel my toes aching and I flex them slightly to reduce the contact area.

His silence belies his nervousness, proven by his next action. There is a shuffling sound and then a strike of flint, followed by the sound of deeper inhale, a pause and an exhale. The sweet fragrance of wafting cigar smoke envelopes me. I have smelled that before, the last time he was here. How much longer can he wait before his psyche explodes? There is no way he is going to break me. I have been through worse.

He continues to puff on the cigar for what can only be a few minutes but seems longer, as every second draws out, as every soft sound fills the emptiness of the small room. I decide he will wait until the cigar is finished before doing anything else. He needs a marker for action. He must be remembering what happened last time he came here. That is good for me as it fuels my determination to maintain the upper hand in the duel.

Finally, the puffing stops and I hear a soft thud and grinding; he must have dropped and extinguished the cigar. Very slow footsteps, and that soft tap, indicate motion, toward me and then around me to my right. The urge to look at him is compelling but I resist, keeping my head and eyes fixed forward. The light to my right changes as he enters my peripheral vision. His body casts a shadow that breaks the stark view in front of me. Then I can see him properly, still dressed in the same grey uniform. He walks to the other chair without looking at me and uses the walking stick as a pivot to turn and sit, both hands resting on the apex of the stick.

"Good morning Katniss," he says, conceding to breaking the silence.

"Good morning Coin," I reply. The tension between us is so uncomfortable that I wonder why he would initiate a meeting. Before he can say anything else I continue, "I see you have a new accessory."

He stares at me stony-faced so I am unsure if the jibe hit home.

"It's a good choice; the red wood finish of the walking stick is quite Presidential," I say, and it is hard to miss the sarcasm.

He lets out a snigger, something in what I said obviously triggered a thought.

"I prefer 'cane' to 'walking stick'. However, yes, thanks to you it is … very Presidential. More on that later. I am glad to see you in such high spirits, I was worried you would be depressed, but the Union seems to have cared well for you," he says, His tone is conversational, as if he was talking to a friend who has been away a while, "They tell me you have been running every day…"

"Yes, I have been, although your Union friends are unhelpful. I asked for proper shoes but they ignored the request," I say, going along with his tone.

"Well, I am sorry, I will make sure you are given the proper equipment. Is there anything else I can help with?" he seems genuinely concerned, although I doubt that is true.

"How about a key to the front gate so I can run on the roads. A change of scenery would be good motivation," I say.

"I would ask but I already know that is against the rules. Prisoners on the run scare the local villagers."

"A harmless woman like me? Scary? I wouldn't harm anyone," I say, feigning a smile. Then I laugh, "Ok, maybe I would, but only if they needed harming."

He ignores the comment, still looking at me with his face expressionless. There is obviously an agenda but he must think drawing things out will make me uncomfortable. Seeing his demeanour, I start to second-guess my bravado. Coin has travelled a long distance. Did he have other business or did he come here just to see me? I need to find out why he is here.

"So, how are your other friends here in the Union?" I ask and immediately get a response, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

"I may have associates in the Union, partners even, but you are the only friend I have here Katniss. Friends are people with whom you share your highs and lows, they are the people whose opinions matter. As it happens, you are someone with whom I want to share my highs and lows, Katniss. Well, at least the highs. Unfortunately, you have stayed away from Panem for quite a long time now, so I have to come and see you. Next time you will have to visit me."

"I intend to, soon," I say.

"Good. Perhaps the shoes I will arrange will help you run home. Oh, yes, how careless of me. There is one small problem with that, you may need to practise swimming as well,' he says, with a smirk on his face showing he is pleased with his jibe.

"That would take too long. Don't worry, I'll ask my friends for help to get back faster. I wouldn't want to keep you waiting," I say.

"Yes, I heard you had some friends here. How is that working for you? I hear they were all killed or captured,' Coin says.

"Only two of us were captured," I say as though it were fact, but inside my mind is racing. Shar. Farrell. Aiden and Ailin. Please let them all be safe.

"There was a red-haired girl…," says Coin, with the emphasis on 'was'. For the first time the spark of cruelty shines in his eyes, he thinks he has hit a weak spot. Either way, I must hide how much the thought of Shar in distress affects me.

"Red-haired? Oh, the serving girl? Shar was her name. Well, these things happen," I say as calmly and coldly as I can manage. Was there a wavering in my voice? I watch his eyes to see if he noticed anything but there is no indication, his face remains emotionless.

"As I was saying, you have been away from Panem a long time, so I decided to bring some news," Coin says, then waves his hand and a guard steps past me to place a vid player in the table. My heart jumps as he does so, I was unaware he was standing behind me. How he came so close is a total surprise. The guard moves back to his position behind me. As he does so I notice that he has a different uniform on to my prison guards, he is wearing the grey of Otwa. I try to catch his eye but he is cold and emotionless.

"Let me tell you what you missed whilst you have been on sojourn, here in sunny Ireland. The first thing you should know is that your husband quit the Senate. Yes, that's right. After you refused to return home, he had to. Someone had to look after your offspring. He managed to join the District 12 Council. Appalachia… it sounds wrong to me. I will have to find a new name for it. Usually it is the older folk who keep to the District Numbers. How about you? My guess is you still say 12. Mmm, I thought so. See, you and I are so alike. Back to you family, I know you are keen for news. Peeta does a good job back in 12, looks after water treatment. Inbound and outbound, if you understand," Coin says, enjoying his witticisms far more than I am.

He leans over and pushes a button on the vid player. I see Peeta and the children, playing in the meadow. It is spring, the new shoots are out, the buds on the bushes and trees are visible. At least it is warmer for them. I miss them so much! This is the cruellest gift I have ever received. I stare until the vid ends.

"You can relax; your offspring are well cared for. I must say, they are growing very quickly, and look happy. Peeta must be a very good cook. The two of them are truly blossoming, growing taller by the day."

Coin motions with a twist of his hand and the guard walks to the door where he says something softly to another person, and I hear footsteps recede down the corridor. My feet have become quite numb but I refuse to ask for anything. I will not display any weakness.

"Can I confess something to you, Katniss?" asks Coin in a conspirator's tone. Without waiting for a response he knows he will not get he continues, "Your husband's resignation was exactly what I needed. Yes, that's what I said. You see, for a number of years I have been sending out my most trusted people to the other Districts. They have migrated to 'greener pastures'. At least, that is the story they all tell. It has taken about eight years for them to integrate and get into the Senate. With all the movement of people no-one even noticed. Manda Wakeford is a great example. Works for me. Everyone saw her move to 12 and integrate into the community. She worked hard for you all and so you elected her to the Senate. She deserves it. Dedicated and loyal she is."

The guard comes back with a carafe of water with two glasses on a tray. He places it on the table, fills the two glasses and then retreats behind me. After my interrupted run this morning, I could do with a drink. The water is enticing but I move my gaze back to Coin and watch him take a sip from the other glass.

"You see Katniss, one thing my mother didn't do was think of taking over from the inside. I have done that. Half the Senators were from District 13. All infiltrated through the migration programs. The problem was that I had reached a limit and needed one more Senator to achieve a majority. When you came here, that was a double blessing. Besides you being here, I also received a gift when your husband resigned."

"I hit three birds with one shot! First I had you here. Second, Peeta freed up a place in the Senate. I had been waiting over a year for one more of my people to reach the Senate. One of my people replaced Peeta as a District 12 Senator. Third, the only person in the Senate to compete in the Hunger Games was gone. Peeta had a massive influence in the Senate. Can you imagine my delight? Of all the Districts from which to acquire the final Senate seat! And it was a Victor that was replaced. You appreciate the irony, don't you? Yes. Yes, I can see it in your eyes."

His revelation has shocked me to the core. The enormity of his scheme astounds even me, the person who mistrusted him from the first time I saw him, the person who warned the Senators. If only we had turned back, stopped the journey to Ireland, perhaps we could have averted this. No, we were unaware of the Senators, and there would have been opposition to any motion. The Senate was powerless, they would have discussed the idea for months and then it would have been too late anyway. The ramifications are enormous; it could be the end of a free Panem.

Coin has been watching me as I process his words, and recognises the change in my expression. He is so impressed with himself that he almost giggles like a child.

"You won't get away with it," is all I can say.

"But Katniss," he says, reaching his arms wide, "I already have! Last month the Senate passed a new law, establishing the Office of the President. Then they elected a President. That was the easiest part. My friends from the Union sent some helicopters to attack District 8. District 13 sent troops and hovercraft to beat them back to the Union. Well, the Union forces helped by withdrawing as planned, but no one needs to know that part. We were heroes from District 13 again. When the Senators cast their Presidential votes, the people were happy with the result. You said it Katniss, my cane makes me quite Presidential," he says, before standing and swinging the cane playfully in a circle. Once again, he reaches to the vid player and I watch as the Senators all walk past Coin, sitting in the Speaker's chair, and shake his hand. He sits smugly on the chair, as if he were a king of a fable.

I am speechless. Coin is the President of Panem. This evil man is President. How did the President come from outside the existing list of Senators? All his machinations, all his manoeuvring, have gone unnoticed by the entire nation. This involves more people than Coin. It must be the whole of Otwa. He is just the focus of their ambition, to rule the other Districts as they believed was their right. Interrupted by the rebellion, but mostly interrupted by me when I killed his mother. They have all supported him because he is her son. They have yearned for revenge and now they have it.

With all the power at his disposal, there is nothing to stop him sending troops to District 12 and capturing my family. Here I sit three metres from him and I am powerless to stop him. I create a mental picture of me jumping out of the chair and ramming into him, crushing him with my weight, using the chair as a weapon.

My body jerks involuntarily, straining at the shackles, and the guard standing behind me shoves down on both my shoulders, slamming my chair to the concrete floor. Twisting my head, I try to bite his hand but it is too close to my neck. Then cold water slaps my face. Coin has picked up the second glass of water and tossed the contents at me. He is standing at the table, looking down at me, with malice in his eyes.

"Calm down Katniss," he says, "I have more news for you."

Dripping with water, I slump as much as my shackles will allow. This madman has done something, something worse than what he has already told me. Whatever his news, it must be something I would hate. Invasion? Have they invited the Union into Panem? No, they simulated the battle. Move the Capitol? I care little for the Capitol.

My family, it must be my family! Peeta, my loving husband, my long-suffering love. Jewel, my beautiful and intelligent daughter, so artistic like her father. Stone, so full of energy, with a carefree attitude that hides an astute mind. How can a person hate me that much that they would hurt other innocent people, even children, for revenge? I believed that Panem was passed using children for gain.

"Leave them alone. I'll do whatever you want, just leave them alone. They weren't part of what happened to your mother!" I say without trying to hide the panic in my voice.

Coin sniggers and shakes his head in rhythm with his words. "Katniss… Katniss… Katniss. Do you think I want your family? Not yet, later, next year possibly, but they are safe … for now. I want you to spend a year anticipating what will happen to them. I promise they will get their chance next year to participate in the fun."

He scrapes his chair across the concrete floor and the squeal sends shivers up my spine into the back of my head. Turning it around so that that the back is toward me, he straddles the chair and leans his arms on the top of the chair back.

"Katniss. I heard about your last meeting with my mother. Enobaria was there, if you remember. She told me every detail, including what everyone agreed at that meeting. As she tells it, your vote was the deciding vote. Do you remember what you voted for?"

"No!" He thinks I am answering his question with the 'No', but I am objecting to what I already know he is going to say.

"You don't remember what you voted? Well, I can tell you that you voted 'Yes'."

"No! You can't! You can't!"

"But Katniss, it is what you asked for, it is what you voted 'Yes' for. All I am doing is what any good friend would do, helping a friend get what she wants. Luckily for you, as the President, I can do ANYTHING."

"You"re a madman! You're insane!"

"No Katniss, I'm just finishing what you and my mother both wanted. Do you want me to say it, Katniss?" he says, enjoying my pain more than a sane person would.

I sense my body shivering uncontrollably. "Please don't do it Coin. Please." I am begging now. If I could get to my knees I would, but the shackles prevent me. The guard also restricts my movement as he still has his hands planted on my shoulders.

Coin looks at me, triumph emanating from every pore. My bravado when I was brought in to this room, when I thought nothing he could do would upset me, is gone, destroyed in minutes by this hateful man. With immense satisfaction he says, "In honour of the last winners, I have chosen to use District 12 as the location for the first New Hunger Games."

I hear him laughing, I see his piercing eyes squint with glee, his hot, sweaty odour invades my olfactory sense, I feel hands holding me down as I try to launch at him, but it is all through a tunnel. What has he done? What has he done? My legs are lose from the knee down so I push up with my left leg and lash out at his face with my right but the guard instinctively pulls me back by my neck and my foot misses Coin.

My only satisfaction is the look of fear on Coin's face as I lashed out. He rears back and up, knocking his chair over to fall on my leg. The guard tilts me back to a sitting position. Coin composes himself, then steps around behind me and roughly pulls my head back by my hair so that I am looking up at him. Looking down at me, he says, "The Hunger Games will go ahead and will be run by Enobaria. She has great new ideas and surprises. You will get to watch the whole event; we will make sure of that. One more thing, Katniss, I will make sure everyone knows you voted 'Yes'."

With that, he leaves the room with the guard, the tapping of his cane identifying his gait amongst the other footsteps that accompany him down the corridor, away from me. When I can no longer hear any sound I break down, sobbing, until a prison guard comes in and, after confirming I will behave, releases me back into the compound.


	30. Chapter 30

Day 100 - Resolve

After Coin left and they released me into the compound yesterday I wandered around, my senses and nerves overloaded. Although I am unsure, I believe Connor first saw me. I do know Maeve and Isabella took me to my cell, where I curled into a foetal position on the bed. The rest of the day I remained on my cot, motionless, covered with a blanket. Dinner came and went without me, as did lights out. Sometime during the night, I succumbed to a sleep disturbed with memories of children dying, of Rue dying in my arms, of the boy from District 8 with my arrow in his chest. Too numb to sit up in bed, I would wake and then drop back into frightful sleep. When the light of morning breaks the cycle, I feel like I have been playing spinning tops with Stone in the meadow, spinning with our arms out until we lose our feet under us and tumble to the ground, unable to halt the fall. Except this time, there is no laughter.

Isabella checks on me as soon as the cell locks clank open. Her English is improving rapidly but this morning there is no talking. She sits on my bed and pulls my limp body up to her own, cradling me and rocking me gently. My inhibitions are gone, my pride destroyed, and I cry, my tears staining the front of her tunic. Isabella is humming a soft, soothing tune, as I did with my own children when they were upset. Finally the names of my children come to me, ringing through my consciousness like small dinner chimes, and I realise moping will get me nowhere. I need to take action.

Placing my hands on the bed and pushing elevates me to a sitting position. Isabella has the presence of mind to release me as I sit, although she remains stationary on the bed.

"I need to run," I say, and climb out the other side of the bed.

"Good, run. Clean mind," Isabella says, nodding.

"Yes, clear my mind and think," I say, my determination growing by the minute.

I dress and start out the door, then turn back to Isabella who is still sitting on my bed watching. She understands immediately and nods with a smile. No words can convey my gratitude as much as the silent communication between us.

After my first circuit around the compound, it comes to me that I am barefoot. So much for Coin's promise. I intend to stop his other promise, that my family will be part of his Hunger Games. There is no way I will let that happen and the Hunger Games must be stopped completely as well. My mind starts to go over the options for escape. Every lonely loop of the compound matches an idea. Around my twentieth loop, the rain starts, but I carry on running. My fellow in-mates finally stop me when it is lunchtime. My clothes are wet through from the rain that has been falling most of the morning and I have to keep brushing water from my face.

They escort me inside and force me to shower quickly so that I can get some food. We only have a one hour window and if I miss it then I will have to wait for the dinner period. Only ten minutes remain after my shower so I eat faster than I usually would. The running has at least given me an appetite. Connor and Ronan sit with me whilst I eat. After lunch they take me to an indoor area with chairs and tables.

"Katniss, what happened yesterday?" asks Connor.

I look around, wondering if there are cameras and microphones. Due to the time I have spent outside, I know the location of all the cameras and microphones. Inside it is different. The only areas I have been in are my cell, the dining hall, the ablution area and the clinic. Escape is a conversation for outside. My concern is that Coin will have someone watching me and he must be unaware of what I say. Any additional advantage he has over me will worsen my situation.

It takes me a full minute to decide the two of them are trustworthy. I tell them what happened during the meeting with Coin. They listen without interruption as I describe the events, although I avoid discussing my reaction to the news of what Coin has done. If any weakness is evident I am sure it will come back to haunt me.

"I do know about the Hunger Games, but I never saw them. Sending children into an arena to die was an evil act," says Ronan sympathetically.

"We cannot let him do this. The entire concept is de-humanising, although the people in the Capitol thought it was an entertaining pageant," I say, remaining calm but channelling my growing fury into action.

Connor stands and beckons with his head. We follow through the grey corridors and out to the compound where the rain has decreased to a slight drizzle. The clouds are low, obscuring the top of the guard tower to our right. Connor leads us around the building and we find an old indentation that used to be a doorway, now blocked with concrete. Under the inadequate cover, we start discussing escape. The urgency with which my companions attack the conversation surprises me. Up until now, there has been no indication that anyone except me has any design or hope of escape.

Despite my renewed sense of hope we are no closer to a solution an hour into our discussion than we were at the beginning. A soft noise, a boot on stone, startles us.

"If he does that again, I'll be stopping him from doing it again, and that's no lie," says Ronan suddenly.

"You know there will be trouble with the guards if there is any fighting, you should just drop it, leave it be," answers Connor, in a reconciliatory tone.

A guard appears in our view, weapon pointed in our direction.

"This is a restricted area," he says, "why did you come around this side?"

Connor steps out into the drizzle with his palms out, in a conciliatory gesture. "Sorry sir, we were trying to resolve an issue. There was, well, there was a disagreement. Ms Everdeen and I were here trying to calm Mr Logan here down a bit. Nothing important, sir, just about some food."

After a pause the guard waves his weapon toward the entrance to the prison building and says, "Go back, sort things out inside."

"Yes sir, thank you, we will do that," says Connor, and pulls Ronan by the arm toward the door, "Come on, he is right, lets sort this out with him now."

I stand watching them go, admiring their quick play-acting, but disappointed that we are no closer to a solution for escape than we have been previously.

"You too, go," orders the guard.

I nod and head around toward the entrance, where I stop just out of the rain. The thought of being inside makes me uncomfortable so I stay as close to the door as possible so that the rain is dripping a handbreadth from me. Small gusts of wind blow drops onto my prisoner shoes, so that after a while my feet start to feel wet. Leaning on the doorframe, I survey the limited vista.

Although the top of the guard tower is out of view, I can see the wall to the north of my location. Running through my mind is every detail of the wall and fence, the dips, curves, surface. I have gone through the detail countless times but it has yet to yield results. Then a question occurs to me: why did it take an hour for the guard to locate us we when went outside?

I stand up straight, and lean forward to look left and right along the prison building. My single-mindedness had blinded me, prevented me from looking at everything around me. Assuming the problem to fix was on the outside, I have ignored the inside. The wall and fence are the problem but analysing the perimeter in isolation only makes me focus on the problem rather than the solution. The realisation that our approach to escape is totally incorrect immediately renews my vigour. I step forward into the rain and laugh, holding my arms out and turning my face to the sky, trying to catch the rain with my open mouth. Minutes pass and it feels as if the rain is cleansing my negativity, washing the bad energy out of my body, like spring rains that renew the Earth.

I want to find the others, tell them we have been doing this all wrong. The guards will be watching us closely today, now that they found us outside. Patience Katniss, patience. Tomorrow will be a better day to start looking at the problem differently. After eighty-four days on the Rock, I must keep impatience from ruining this new idea. We must enter the waters gradually rather than diving in. I must keep my actions separated from my tumbling thoughts.

Tomorrow will be a good day!


	31. Chapter 31

Day 101 - Gardening

The sun shines brightly as I run around the compound. It is a beautiful day and it matches my demeanour. The realisation of how negative and unpleasant I have been since I arrived here shames me. My treatment of the other inmates has been terrible.

As I run I think of everyone's names and am embarrassed that I know only half. For such a small prison community that is a poor indictment. My excuse has been that I am not good with friendships but that is untrue. The truth is I have been selfish and rude to these people who are in the same position as me. They also want escape or release, to go back to their loved ones, back to their homes.

Is it time to change myself? My hope is that I can escape and make my way back to Panem, back to my family. Is there any need to change? Yes, there is, for I will always regret my own actions. Every human should do what is right and what is best for all. Many times I have met people who believe in a God. My parents never told us about God so we never wondered where we came from. I always had a suspicion that Haymitch believed in God but was too embarrassed to tell anyone. Thus, my youthful encounters with religious people were rare. Now that I am in Ireland it seems everyone believes in God. When I sneeze someone close by will always say 'God bless you", even if the person is a stranger. Perhaps if I believed in their God I would be more grateful, but it makes little difference for me.

Now I sit having breakfast and I see my fellows put their hands together and close their eyes before starting to eat. Maeve tells me that they are praying to God, showing gratitude for their blessings. When I mention we are all in prison and there is little to be grateful for she chastises me and tells me many people in Ireland go hungry every day. We must be grateful for all the small blessings God has given us, for some day we may have less, she tells me. Humbled by her view, my breakfast seems a gift.

Cronan is in his garden when I return to the compound so I head over to him.

"Good morning Cronan," I say, as he slowly turns the earth between the rows of vegetables.

"Good morning Katniss. Pick up a fork and come help me," says Cronan. In my three months here, only Cronan has worked in Cronan's gardens. Taking off my shoes and then picking up a fork, I venture out to where Cronan is working. He takes a floppy hat from his overall pocket and hands it to me. "Put this on, it hides your face from the cameras. The microphones are too far to pick up the sound here. Just pretend we are turning the soil and they won't suspect anything."

I am surprised, Cronan is quite the conspirator and has had this planned for some time. The hat is on my head and pulled down as far as possible to create a shadow on my face. Taking the row next to Cronan I start silently turning the soil, waiting for him to speak. We work together up and down the rows, for ten minutes before he speaks.

"You do the work well, did you tend a garden back home?" he asks.

"We have a small garden, yes. My parents taught me about plants, the different types, how to nurture them. We have a book in the family, of all the different plants in our area, drawings and words added by each generation," I answer.

"That would be a wonderful book to read. Wonderful. So full of knowledge and history. You know, history itself has many lessons for us. Whether the history is known fact or legend, there is generally a story and message somewhere. There are many legends of the Celtic peoples. We have a long history here in Ireland, many different peoples have lived here, … and still do, I might add. Yes, still do. Of course there are humans, plain humans like you and me, the Gaels, or who some call the Celts. We walked across the world to find Eire, the most magical place on Earth."

"Before us were the Tuatha Dé Danann, the Sidhe, magical folk who could walk the paths between worlds, Lords and Ladies all, The Fair Folk, or Faeries. When the Gaels arrived, the Tuatha Dé Danann left this world to live in others, visiting us on special occasions. Oh, that they carry us away from here."

"Let us sit for some water, but be careful what you say on the bench," Cronan says, and walks to the small bench on the side of his garden closest to the buldings. We sit and he pours two cups of water.

"There are a few Irish legends that you would be interested in. First, there is Tristan and Isolde. Tristan and Isolde were lovers. She was married to Tristan's uncle but her heart was for Tristan alone, because they both drank a potion of love. When King Mark, her husband, finds out about the affair, he decides to punish them both. He decides that Tristan will go to the gallows … that means they will hang him by the neck until he dies … but on the way to the gallows Tristan decides rather to die his own way and jumps from a chapel over a cliff. Miraculously he floats softly to the ground. Some say he lands in mud, others say magic allows him to land gently. Either way, he survives. That is the first legend of interest."

He pauses and I interject, "what happened to Isolde?"

Cronan laughs, "Aah, a romantic you certainly are. People say you care only for escape, but here is proof against that."

"What do you mean by 'People say'...?"

"Katniss, you have not been the friendliest of inmates…" says Cronan, telling the truth gently as if to soften the blow.

"Yes, I know, I have been so focused on," I remember what he said about being careful, so I change what I was about to say, "… certain goals. I aim to change that, though, by making an effort to know everyone here," I say, embarrassed by my own actions.

"Good, that is good. A good behaviour to develop. You need to know each person, with his or her strengths and weaknesses. That is something for later though," he says cryptically.

"For now, let us continue with the legends. Another Celtic legend, from Wales, is of Lleu Llaw Gyffes. Now Lleu Llaw Gyffes' wife was having an affair with another man, Gronw Pebyr. The lovers conspired to kill Lleu Llaw Gyffes so that they could be together…"

"Was there a lot of adultery and murder in the old days?" I ask, without expecting an answer.

Cronan cackles and says, "Based on these two legends, yes. It is the same through the ages. People have been bedding outside of marriage for thousands of years. I doubt the future will be any different."

"Well, I am married, I will stay true to my husband," I say, determined that it will be true. I am unsure about Peeta, especially since he thinks me dead, but I will stay true, I tell myself.

"Katniss, that is a big statement, and I do hope you are true. My wife and I were married fifty-seven years ago and I have never bedded another woman. Life was good to me because it brought me my true love when I was young. Others only find that person late in life and some never at all. Some find another more than once. All that talk that people are content on their own is rubbish. We live to be with others, to exchange energies, to build each other. Energy surrounds us and protects us when it is strong. When it is weak so are we. Love strengthens that energy."

"You are a romantic philosopher. Your wife is a fortunate woman," I say, reaching out and taking his hand in mine.

He smiles his thanks and then continues, "Back to Lleu Llaw Gyffes. He was near invincible but his wife found his one weakness and told her lover. They ambushed Lleu and a spear struck Lleu in the battle. He turned into an eagle, and flew away to an Oak tree where friends found him and nursed him back to health."

"Are you going to tell me about Isolde? Also, finish Lleu's story please? What happened to him?" I ask, intrigued by these old legends.

"Lleu recovered and went back to challenge Gronw. Gronw knew of Lleu's strength and asked to hold a rock between himself and Lleu, but it did not help. Lleu threw his spear with such strength it went through the rock and killed Gronw. Then a friend turned his wife into an owl and Lleu became king."

"And Isolde?" I ask, frustrated he has ignored my first request.

"Isolde? Tristan rescued Isolde and they escaped to the forests. Now remember, their love was the result of a potion they both drank. When the potion wore off they realised that they could not escape or overcome King Mark, Isolde's husband. They went back and made peace with the King. Isolde returned to her husband, and Tristan left the kingdom for exile."

"That isn't the way it should end!" I say, having expected a different conclusion to the legend.

"Legends are not all Faerie tales, where the good are always happy at the end. Life is not a Faerie tale either. I doubt I will ever see my wife again, and that is surely the biggest tragedy I could ever conceive."

I am still holding his hand so I squeeze it tight, hoping he feels my love for him, this old man who befriended me when I was alone in the world.

I want to tell him that when I find a way to escape I will take him with me but the look on Cronan's eyes tells me he does not believe he will ever leave the Rock.

"Are there other legends?" I ask, trying to stop him dropping to melancholy.

"Yes, yes, there are many legends, but they are the two I feel are most pertinent to the situation."

Clouds have migrated across the sky and blocked out the sun, so I start to take off my hat but Cronan squeezes my hand and shakes his head, so I keep it on.

Cronan sets down his cup and walks back to turning soil. My hands feel bruised but I take up my fork and resume my place in the row next to Cronan.

He starts talking again, but in a soft voice, just a little louder than a whisper.

"I was watching you run this morning, Katniss. It was different today," he says, looking across at me, a knowing look on his face.

"Yes, it was," I agree. He turns his attention back to the soil.

He waits again before talking, "Now that you are looking in the correct direction, I can help you. Tell me, what are you looking at?"

I look around to see if any cameras are pointing to us or if anyone is watching us, but we are not attracting any attention. Explaining my change of view to Cronan is easy, he nods with understanding as I explain that the perimeter is the obstacle rather than the solution and grunts with approval when I explain I am studying the buildings.

"Katniss, I am glad you have reached that understanding. I reached the same conclusion a few days ago. I have a plan."

"A plan?" I ask.

"Yes, a plan. What do you think I have been doing in this garden patch?"

"Well, the obvious answer is growing vegetables…" I say, knowing that is not the correct answer.

"You run Katniss, I garden. We are both looking for the same thing, a way out. However, if 'gardening' is the obvious answer then perhaps you are the only one who knows the truth. I think we should keep it that way, do you agree?"

"Yes. We can keep it between us," I say, standing up. My back is a little stiff from the digging. Cronan stands up with me.

"This is hard work Cronan," I say as I try to stretch out my lower back by leaning backward.

"Not bad for an old man, eh?" he says, chuckling. "You are lucky it is not that hot here. Isabella tells me her home has much hotter weather than this. She is a good person, you must take her with you," says Cronan.

"I cannot, I need to go alone. It is a long way; I cannot afford delays caused by others. Food will be scarce and the more people there are the easier we will be to find. They will leave tracks. I can hunt for myself, move without leaving much of a trail to follow. No, it would be too much burden," I say, shaking my head. He remains quiet, letting my own thoughts argue for him.

"Cronan, why should I take anyone? I know I have not been that friendly, but neither have the others. Only you made an effort when I arrived, and after that Maeve. Only when Connor came did people talk more to me," I say, the thoughts only coming into my mind as I talk. "I will miss Connor … and Isabella … Ronan. And you, definitely you."

He sets aside his fork, hands me small shears, and starts pruning the tomato vines that are growing up the fences he has made, so I follow suit.

"Firstly, you cannot make it to your home without help. Secondly, they were scared of you," he says, and laughs again at the look on my face. "Before you were released into the prison area we were told about you by the medic, Matteo. He told Ava the guards were talking about a wild warrior woman from a foreign shore who had killed two soldiers with a bow. When you walked into the compound and looked around fiercely, it confirmed their fear because it seemed you were ready for a fight."

"I didn't know what to expect when I walked in, I was scared myself, after everything that happened. Cronan, why did you speak to me?" I ask, suddenly curious about his gift of friendship.

"I have a daughter, Katniss, who I have not seen for twenty-five years. I only have two children, which is very unusual in Ireland. We Irish like big families but my wife could not have any more children due to complications with the birth of Rebecca, who was second. Rebecca was everything to us. She grew to be a passionate woman who fought for what was right. She disappeared twenty-five years ago, taken by the Union. We searched for her, causing a good deal of trouble for the Union over that time. When they imprisoned me, I had not seen her for a decade. Rebecca was younger than you the last time I saw her, but when you walked in my heart skipped a beat because I thought you were my daughter. I knew in a second that you were too young to be Rebecca, even though you were older than she was when I last saw her. The problem was that the hope you were Rebecca was so strong that it overrode logic. Of course, logic won the day, eventually. Still, after that, I could not resist talking to you and I am glad that I did. "

"So am I, Cronan, so am I," I say, feeling truly grateful for this man's generosity of spirit and friendship.

"My plan involves more than one person, Katniss. We need a few people to make it work. Think of the legends I have told you, think of what each of the men did," Cronan says.

I first wonder why he will not tell me the plan straight off, but if I do not work it out myself then the chances are it will be too complicated to work. Working in the garden affords me the opportunity to look around and watch. The realisation that we are part of the landscape surprises me. Although the guards must be watching, the simple task we are performing will deceive most anyone. The subtlety of Cronan's approach, once revealed, is brilliant.

There are only three other prisoners outside, due to the wind and overcast conditions. The guards may be focussed on the bulk of the prisoners inside, because when I look at the cameras I see they are not pointed toward us in the garden. That is good for me as I need to study the buildings.

In front of us stands the prison building with the modern patching contrasting with the old structures. The entrance and administration building are not visible from where we are on the north-eastern side. Behind us is the guard tower and perimeter fence, off to our right are the crosses and headstones of the ancient graveyard. A round tower, which stands closer to us than the other parts of the building, dominates the vista. It rises up to a pointed roof, with a window a little below the top. The structure is old and its strength is questionable after all these years of neglect. It still puzzles me why the Union chose to use the ancient ruins as a foundation for the prison, rather than just knocking it down and starting afresh.

How does this all fit in with Cronan's legends? He said to think of the men. In the first, Tristan jumps out of a chapel and floats to the ground, in the second Lleu turns into an eagle and flies away, to an oak tree. They both went through the air, floating and flying. During my time running I have ruled out digging under the perimeter, so going over is the obvious alternative. The question keeps coming back to me, 'how do we go over the wall?' Tristan floated into mud, Lleu flew away. Tristan floated from a chapel down a cliff, Lleu flew into an oak tree. The thoughts run though my head, as I prune and look at the buildings.

Suddenly I see Tristan floating down from the tower in front of me. The problem with that, I think, is twofold. First, how do I climb to the top of the tower? Second, floating will not make it past the perimeter fence.

"We use the tower, but we cannot float like Tristan, we need to fly like Lleu to make it far enough over the fence and wall," I say, knowing Cronan will hear.

"Yes, that is the right way. Why have we not done so already, if it is that obvious?" he asks.

"Have you found the entrance to the tower?" I ask, not knowing the answer to his question.

"Yes, and it is simple to access without detection," he answers to my surprise.

"Can you climb to the window?" I ask, feeling he is waiting for the question.

"Yes, there is an internal stair."

"How do you jump far enough to make it over the perim…, you don't jump, you float! A zipline! You use a zipline!" I say, standing up excitedly. Then I chastise myself, there is no zipline.

"We do not have a zipline; they know every item we have. We could not smuggle anything in. And we have to string it up as well."

Cronan is chuckling quietly to himself as he continues with his pruning. "Get back to work Katniss, or you'll draw attention to us."

I fake holding my back and stretching, then go onto my knees to continue my pruning. "Ok, so we cannot use a zipline, I can't see how else we would float. So maybe we can fly. No, that isn't..."

"Katniss, take a step back," says Cronan. "The zipline, I call it a flying fox, is the answer. So far as the cable, what are you doing right now?"

"Pruning tomato plants," I say, frustrated at having to state the obvious.

"And what is keeping the plants up?" Cronan asks, prompting me again.  
"Wire on bamboo poles," I say.  
"The only equipment they bring in to this prison is the equipment I need to grow fruit and vegetables. They count all the tools but the wire is difficult to keep track of. I have spare wire hidden in the ground, along the rows. I have approximately 250 metres of it, the wire we use for the vines. The cable is extremely strong. I have spare bamboo poles and wooden stakes in the shed. The guards let me keep all of it because I grow almost all the vegetables for this prison," Cronan says, a hint of pride in his voice.

"That is brilliant, Cronan. Now, tell me the answer to your question?"

"Which question is that?" he asks.

"Why haven't you tried to escape?" I ask.

"Because, until now, I had not worked out how to get the cable fixed from the tower to the other side,' he says and a small laugh escapes as he says it.

"And you have the answer now?" I ask.

"When you arrived they said you used a bow to hunt. It struck me if I had someone who was good enough to hit a target on the other side of the fence we could fire an arrow across with a wire attached to it. There would be little to no sound to alert the guards, as long as the wire doesn't touch the fence."

I think for a minute as I prune. "There are two problems with that Cronan. First, an arrow will not travel far enough if there is wire attached. Second, an arrow will not fly 200 metres and go deep enough into a target to hold the weight of a person."  
"I have a lot of string as well, that could help," offers Cronan.

I mull it over and then agree with Cronan that string would help. There are, however, other problems we need to solve before making an attempt.

It is quite dark now, the light is fading and the overcast weather contributes as well. Cronan stands up and tells me we are done for the day. We pack up the tools and pile the cuttings into a heap where Cronan says the staff will take them away. My mind is buzzing as we work. This is the best hope I have had since I arrived. Connor, Ronan and Ryan all had plans different to mine but Cronan has both the plan and the equipment to succeed.

As we walk back to the buildings Cronan says aloud, "Go for your run in the morning, then come and work with me again. I will tell you more legends from the old days. Perhaps your Irish roots will stir a love of this land."

I leave the last comment for tomorrow because my mind is too full of Cronan's amazing plan. All we need is to solve the last piece of the puzzle, getting the wire strung between two points. Cronan will not want me to discuss the plan with the others, as we must avoid any risk of exposure, so I hold the knowledge inside me, fighting the urge to stand up and shout that we have a plan. The night is a long one spent staring at the walls, thinking of possible solutions.


	32. Chapter 32

Day 102 - Advances

My dreams, when I finally do sleep, pulse with memories of Peeta, Jewel and Stone, as well as our friends. Haymitch is there, urging me on, telling me "sweetheart, you can make it home." Granny Sae is fussing around the house, telling me the bed will be ready for me when I arrive. Even Jessa is there, helping the children into their best clothes, brushing hair and shining their shoes, making them look their best for my arrival. Dominating the images are Peeta, looking tired but anxious to see me, and the children, full of apprehension that their memories of me will be different to reality.

I fade from vivid dreams into my current reality. Colourless walls surround me, hissing rain drowns out all other sound, the starched sheets rough against my skin, the smell of the disinfectant creeping into my nostrils. The cleaners must already be busy. Have I missed both my usual run and breakfast? The darkness is contradictory to that until I link the sound of heavy rain to the absence of light.

Bouncing out of bed and dressing quickly, I am hopeful there may still be breakfast available. My knotted hair can wait because I need to appease the burn in my gut. When I reach the canteen, the place is clear of people but more significantly, food. Disappointed, I head back to my cell and go through the remainder of the ritual I complete after my standard run.

The rain falls heavily, drops bouncing off the ground onto my boots, as I stand in the doorway to the compound, looking longingly outside. Just as my hope of finalising Cronan's plan peaks, it crashes down due to this curtain of water that keeps me confined, just as the bars on my cell door keep me confined at night. My emotions have become increasingly erratic, swinging from joy to sorrow and back, as a pendulum ticks to show time.

"Katniss?"

I turn to see Connor watching me, worry on his visage. He appears tentative as he approaches me.

"Hello Connor, miserable morning, isn't it?" I say, not being able to think of anything else I want to talk about. Besides the plan, of course, which I cannot discuss – for now at least.

Connor steps closer to me, analysing me with his eyes. From his pocket he draws a paper serviette, which he unfolds to reveal a sandwich with bacon and egg. He offers the sandwich to me and I take it, almost grabbing it from his hand. I am unusually hungry but manage to utter my thanks six or seven times between bites. My response brings a smile to Connor's face, which I prefer to the unsure demeanour he had when first he appeared.

"I was worried when you weren't at breakfast. Maeve said you did not go running for the first time in months. We were worried you were ill, but Maeve said we should leave you to sleep, sleep being the best nurse one can find," says Connor. The concern is still there but it is subdued now.

"I am not sick, just tired because I didn't sleep well. Thank you for the food, I needed it."

"Anything you want to talk about?" Connor asks.

"…No. Nothing I care to talk about."

I paused before responding, perhaps for too long, because when I answer Connor stares at me, knowing I have decided to hide something. He is leaning on the other side of the arched doorway, one hand holding his chin and that arm leaning on the other, which holds onto his waist. He has raised his booted right foot against the wall behind him. In this disarming pose he continues to watch me. I feel like I am back with Doctor Aurelius, trying to keep everyone, including me, out of my head.

After what seems an age he stands straight and closes the session with a brief 'Alright'.

"Come on, no use staring at the rain. We are in the rest area, discussing life. It will do you good to join the conversation," he says.

"Discussing life?" I ask, and before he can nod or respond verbally I continue, "I think that is exactly what I need to avoid right now. This is not life, this is a hell between Cronan's worlds."

Connor walks over to me and before I can retreat he puts his arms around me. His large frame engulfs me but I remain rigid, my arms at my sides. No man except Peeta and Haymitch has hugged me for a long time. Peeta, Haymitch, Cinna, Gale, my father. I can think of no other to add to the list. The bear hug from Dav Beader doesn't count. My uncertainty of Connor's intentions reinforces my body's rigidity. He finally releases me and retreats to the opposite wall, disappointment in his eyes. To my surprise, he stays with me instead of walking away, and after a while, as we both stare out into the rain, he starts humming a tune that at first seems melancholy but as I listen transforms into an uplifting melody. Then he starts to softly singing words, reminding me of my father, who could make the mockingjays stop to listen.

"If I had words to make a day for you,

I'd sing you a morning golden and new

I would make this day last for all time

Give you a night deep in moonshine."

When he finishes we hold each other's gaze until discomfort forces me to break the contact.

"That was …. beautiful," is all I can say.

"It is an ancient song, from before the Union, from before the waters rose. The Irish have long memories. One more thing you should know, once we make up our minds, we rarely change them," he says, and walks away down the corridor.


	33. Chapter 33

Day 105 - Frustration

Even the locals are surprised that the heavy rain lasted a full three days. Trapped inside, I made good on my commitment to Cronan to meet everyone and make an effort to know each one, going around the room and sitting with people, introducing myself and listening to their stories. It is surprising how they have so much to discuss even though they have been in here together, in some cases for years, without any news from outside to stimulate conversation. Granny Sae mentioned to me that married people ran out of topics to talk about because they stopped doing things outside their marriage. Outside interests kept them interesting to each other. After Connor's song, it was also an ideal way to avoid him.

The incident with him at the door left me confused and uncomfortable. What was the intention of the hug and the song? Does he have feelings for me that are more than just friendship? All his flirting when we first met, although unreciprocated, was flattering, but was it just him being playful? Or was there genuine attraction? Since we have been in the prison proper, there has been no flirting, although we talk every day.

As a married woman, I am content with the friendship. We would talk about topics in general but nothing too personal. Sometimes we would discuss my family but never his. He said he had no family left so we stayed away from that topic, and never about any of his relationships in the past. Mostly we talked about our health, the weather, politics, but mostly about escape, because I keep raising it. Many times he would stop me and talk about small things, joke a bit. Connor's jovial nature makes it easy to talk to him. My one concern now is his motive foe spending time with me.

Cronan's garden is muddy, but it is a further refuge from the uncertainty I face if I am with Connor. It has been three months since I have seen my husband but it is not long enough to forget him or my loyalty to him. Connor may be a man with attractive qualities but he is not Peeta. I do not know why a woman on her own is fair game, even if she is married. Perhaps they do not think we are ever getting out of here. If that is the case, I aim to prove them wrong. One more good thing about the garden, it is the place I can discuss the escape.

The last three days have been frustrating due to the self-imposed restrictions we have placed on ourselves. There are too many microphone locations for us to broach the subject of escape. For the plan to be successful we need to find solutions to the remaining issues but we must also keep the plan a closely guarded secret. I have ideas on how to finish the plan but I cannot speak to Cronan or any of the others until we are outside.

Cronan is not here yet so I sit on the slightly damp bench assessing the garden. The tomato plants on the vines look defeated by the rain, drooping in submission. Back in 12 I didn't plant many tomatoes so I do not know what the remedy is. The other rows of ground vegetables in front of the vines looked humbled but not defeated. Water will wash the splashed soil off most of them.

I know exactly whom I think we should involve in the escape. First, I need to get out of here and somehow get back to my family. Coin is a danger and could do anything at any stage. With me I will take Cronan, it is his plan and equipment so it is only right that he come with. He wants to see his wife. So many years married and still in love, it is right that he gets back to her. They lost their daughter, Rebecca, so many years ago. They only have each other. I also want to take Isabella and Ronan, they are so young with so much life to live. I want them to have the chance at a good life. They can come back to Panem with me. The last person must be Connor. He has helped me so much, he has been a good friend. I have relied on him, perhaps too much, since we arrived here. He has been there every day for me, leaving whatever it is that he was doing to talk with me, to walk the perimeter, to distract me and some days keep me sane. Despite the awkward situation it is only right that he comes with.

I have a sudden urge for an orange but Cronan only grows vegetables here. Perhaps they won't allow trees to be planted, or perhaps Cronan only knows how to grow vegetables. The climate is not ideal for orange trees, which need warmer climates. We planted seven orange trees back at our house but they never grew well. The thought of orange reminds me immediately of Peeta, the colour being his favourite. If I was hoping the garden would rescue me from my predicament with Connor then I was obviously wrong. How do I fix this?

"Sweetheart, sitting on the bench is not going to fix anything," a voice says.

"I know, Haymitch, but I am not sure what to do about him," I say.

"Him? I'm talking about the plants," says Cronan behind me.

I start from my reverie, bouncing back into reality. "What? Oh! Sorry, I was just …"

He places a gentle hand on my left shoulder, "I know, Katniss, I know. Come on, busy hands can help clear the mind. Perhaps it will help you remember my real name," he says, laughing at me and gesturing to the garden. I called him Haymitch! He continues to cackle as I follow after him, apologising more than is required.

We get to work on the ground plants first, checking up and down the rows for damage from the rains. Both Cronan and I pull a number of plants as we work silently. Cronan is right, the manual labour does help and as I work I start singing to myself. I go through the songs my father taught me, starting with the Valley Song. The memories relax me and I forget all about Connor, thinking only of good times with my family, of hunting with my father when I was young, teaching my children where to get berries and other wild produce, laughing with Peeta when the children do a show for us.

By the time Cronan calls a break I am in a good place and thinking clearly. I need to keep Connor as a friend as he is the only way I can get to Shar. Only Connor knows the place where we were going before the Union attacked, separating Connor and me from the rest. There is no doubt in my mind that Shar is still in Ireland. Getting back to Panem will be a massive undertaking and she cannot do it alone. Addressing the issue of Connor's affections is more difficult because I need to keep him onside.

"How do you think we can get the wire drawn between two points?" Cronan asks, after we have sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping at our water.

"Three days of rain was frustrating, being all cooped up like a bunch of chickens, but it was a blessing in disguise," I reply.

"So you figured it out?" Cronan asks as he leans on a rake, a knowing smile on his face.

"You know I did, you old snake!" I say with accusation on my face, but with a laugh in my voice, "you knew I would all along! Didn't you!"

"Get back to work, woman, this garden won't tend itself," he says, but he is also laughing quietly.


	34. Chapter 34

**Day 131 - Plans**

The last sixteen days have been quietly busy. We have been working at the plan, arranging the people, arranging the equipment and the access to the tower. Each of the people involved now knows who is on the team, we all know our roles in preparing, and we all know the schedule. We have been patient, preparing everything slowly, aiming for a specific date, which is tomorrow.

We have been careful not to disturb our routines as the guards may notice any change. Every morning Ronan and I go for our run together, using the time to go over the plan. He is a very capable young man, forced to be by his circumstance. I am very proud of him, that he has come through the ordeals of the last few years so well. Cronan tends his crop. Today he lingers, walking up and down the rows, touching the vines lovingly, as if they are his children. Connor goes through his daily routine as well, talking to the other prisoners but never about our plans. Isabella spends time with Maeve. She has expressed regret that we cannot take more people but understands why.

Cronan and Ronan worked out how to get to the tower at night without detection. After dinner, we wait in the ablution area. When we do this we cannot get back to our cells until the morning bell sounds, signalling all doors are unlocked. Cronan discovered this anomaly in the security processes one night when he was late getting to the ablutions. "Lights out' sounded and he was too scared to return to his cell. He slept in the ablutions and woke when the first people entered before breakfast. Ronan then found that the men's ablutions have a false wall that leads to a service space allowing the plumbing to run through the building. The space is barely wide enough for a man to squeeze through. It runs for seven metres to a wider space in the old structure, where a door provides access to the base of the tower. At some stage in the past someone rebuilt the interior of the tower and included a modern metal staircase that rises to the window that can be seen from outside.

Cronan managed to smuggle all the equipment into the ablutions and hid them in the dead space over the period of a few days. The smuggling of the cable and string was well orchestrated. It was a drab, wet day and Cronan was out in the garden with his overcoat. Connor and Ronan started a fight away from the gardens to distract the guards whilst I escorted Cronan, coughing loudly, to the buildings. With the coils hidden under Cronan's overcoat we waddled and stumbled to the building. The bulk of the cable looked suspicious so I pressed against Cronan to hide the unusual shape. As we reached the main door, four guards exited, almost bumping into us, on their way to stop the fight. Connor and Ronan earned detention for three days in the administration building but luckily there was no torture.

Over the last days Connor has made a large bow from wood, bamboo and wire that Cronan smuggled into the tower. He has had to do the work at night in the tower, taking a risk that the guards will hear something or see he is not on his cell. In addition, he has made three arrows from the stakes Cronan smuggled. He has prepared the string and cable runs as well, so that when I fire the arrow across the fence the string will not snag on anything. Knowing that I will only have once chance at the shot I asked about the three arrows. Connor replied that two were for practising.

Isabella had the trickiest part of all: convincing the medic that he should help us. She feigned illness to gain access to the clinic and then befriended him using their common heritage as a tool. His name is Matteo and he is here as a punishment for treating the wrong people during an uprising. Insurgents fighting Union troops received treatment in the hospital where Matteo worked. Matteo was the first to treat them. When the Union officials found out, they dispatched him to an outlying post – The Rock. For us the reason he is at The Rock is a stroke of luck, as he wants to escape the Union. A promise to take him with us to Panem was the final carrot needed for him to agree.

Matteo had a difficult task to prepare a mark outside the prison walls that I can hit with an arrow. Once the mark is struck he will need to pull the string until the cable reaches him. He will need to fasten the cable well and then signal for us to fly along it. From there we will flee the area as fast as possible.

Tonight though, I must take a risk that puts us all in danger but is necessary. After the evening meal Connor walks with me, shielding me from the cameras in the corridor until we are inside the male ablutions. Once inside I crawl through the service space and climb the metal stairs spiralling inside the cold stone tower to the window where Connor has set the bow and arrows.

The bow is a strange cluster of wood and bamboo, bound at intervals with circles of cable, tied and linked to provide flex. Unlike the recurve bow Connor made before, this is a single arc. A single cable runs between the ends of the bow. I pull at the cable and there is significant tension. The power comes from the way Connor has layer the wood and bamboo. It is an incredible design. The equipment is larger than expected. I know the distance is at least one hundred metres and the shot will require more power than a simple hunting bow can provide, especially if the arrow is to stick when it hits the target.

The target is supposed to be a tree, marked with a bright mark of white cloth. Before I can hit the target I first have to see it. Peering through the faint light cast by the quarter moon, a cross of white is finally visible. At first I think it is a trick of light and shadow but the exact, unnatural lines grow in clarity until I am convinced I have found the target.

The mark is two hundred metres to the northeast, almost hidden by the guard tower that stands in the corner. My first thought is that the mark must be moved to a closer target but the closer trees are too small and a cable will run too close to the electrified fence atop the wall. The steeper the cable run the faster we will fly, risking injury and detection. Although we will fly very close to the tower the cable run will be higher than the camera view. Whether by design or luck, Matteo has chosen well.

The bow is heavy and the arrow long, forcing me to draw the string back further than natural. The length of the bow is more than my height but when I raise it the lower point comes off the ground. I will need to take the shot rapidly, with little time to aim, or my strength will not keep it raised. Why can Connor not take the shot? He is stronger than I am. If he can make a bow, surely he can use one? He has not ascended with me so I cannot tell him I cannot do this.

I stand for minutes, torn between taking responsibility and asking Connor to take it instead. Thoughts of Peeta, Jewel and Stone invade my indecision, cutting through it like a blade. My resolve strengthens and I take up the bow. If I want to get back to my family, my caring husband and my beautiful children whom I intended to have a peaceful life then I need to take control, take action. I measure the bowstring with my eyes and, using a piece of moss, mark what I believe is the centre of the string. Taking a arrow I nock it at the mark and, standing a metre in from the window so that nothing is visible from outside, I aim toward the mark. The wooden arrow has rudimentary fletches made of bamboo, perfectly balanced and positioned so that they will not nick the bow when I let fly. The point is sharpened, with wire wrapped tightly around the point for strength.

This shot will be difficult. Not only is two hundred metres is a long way, the angle will also be difficult. The arrow will need to arc and I need to set the angle exactly right. With the plan hinging on a single shot tomorrow night I must make sure it is perfect. My resolve wavers and the bow and arrow are set aside as I rethink the shot. I have all night, no need to panic.

An hour later and the measurement of the shot still has me second-guessing myself. What if I drop the arrow short and it hits the fence? They will increase security, if that is possible, ensuring I never escape from here. What if I clear the fence but miss the target. The string will fall on the fence and set the alarm as well. If I make the shot now, can I calculate the compensation needed for the drag of the string accurately?

I find myself sitting and arguing with myself, two characters on the opposite sides of action and retreat, trying to convince me of their viewpoint. Get Connor to take the shot. Fire the arrow high and see where it lands. You aren't strong enough to use this bow. Your aim is the best; you are the obvious choice to take the shot. Even if you get out, how will you make it back to Panem? I will walk, I will swim, I will not give up until I am with my family!

With that I stand up, take up the bow and arrow, and reposition myself. I stand sideways for stability. My eyes find the mark and, selecting a darker smudge on the guard tower for reference, I aim the bow at a trajectory slightly higher than horizontal. Then my eyes close and remain so for a minute, adjusting to pitch darkness. My body remains perfectly still except for the deep breaths I take to calm myself. Inhale, hold, exhale completely. Repeat. Then I open my eyes, draw the arrow back smoothly, sight the target and release. Faint light, some from the moon but mostly the glow of the prison lights allows me to track the flight. It starts dropping but clears the fence and flicks through the upper part of the tree.

Disappointment surges, followed by a purging satisfaction. Although I didn't hit the mark I didn't hit the fence either. For the first shot I have ever made with this giant bow it was an exceptional one. Over two hundred metres the shot was only five metres above the mark and almost perfectly straight. I have to applaud Connor's workmanship. I have more confidence now but I hear a voice telling me to be patient, so I set the bow down again and go over the shot in minute detail before deciding to take my second practise shot.

Following the same routine as the first shot, I check the smudge on the tower, then aim slightly lower before loosing the second shot, which just clears the fence and flies about twenty metres short of the mark, It skips off the ground, not even sticking. My confidence dives, just as the second arrow did. There is only one more arrow and we need it for tomorrow night. Why didn't Connor make more? I stare out the window trying to work out what went wrong the second time. Did I draw the bow more than the first shot? It felt the same each time. Was it the angle? I may have over-compensated, aimed too low. Or perhaps the makeshift bow itself lost some of its power. It is a temporary construction at best.

The bow goes back in the corner and, disappointed, I make my way down the stairs, careful not to slip as the already-poor light fades with each step I descend. At the bottom of the stairs, wrapped in darkness, I curl up in a corner of the service space, hugging my overcoat around me, and fall into a sleep of flashbacks and dreams of arrows hitting everything except the mark.


	35. Chapter 35

Day 136 - Flight

"Katniss? ... Katniss?"

I hear Ronan calling me in a worried but whispered tone. My body and neck are stiff from sleeping in a bad position. Night is losing the battle with the morning sun and the light showswonder I am in the space below the tower. What time is it? I have overslept! The service space seems to grab at me, trying to hold me back from making it to the ablutions, but I manage to fight through. Ronan is at the small door, panic in his eyes.

"C'mon Katniss, the others will be awake soon. We've missed our run!"

Oh no! Connor told us not to miss our routine. Any break would alert the guards, make them suspicious. It is the reason we need to leave as early as possible, so that we are far from The Rock when the prison routine starts in the morning. Tonight. We are going tonight!

"We can swap shirts, coats, you can take my cap. You will look like me, just wear the cap low and tuck your hair in. I'll wait until others come in, then I can leave. Get changed, go for a run. I will join you as soon as I can."

It is a good plan, rescuing me from oversleeping. We go into adjacent cubicles and toss clothes over the wall at each other. Once I am in Ronan's clothes I make my way to my cell via the canteen, trying to confuse anyone watching. A few people are there already, which may help with the ruse. I must be an hour late for my run.

At my cell I change and rush out to start the run. Have the guards noticed? I run each circuit expecting the door in the Administration block to open again, but nothing happens. After ten laps Ronan joins me, in my T-shirt that looks uncomfortably tight on him. I have to laugh at him and we continue our run, the tension of possible discovery released. There are still some logistics with the clothes but Ronan suggests we make a swap at the Canteen. The prison staff check and count everything; we cannot have any anomalies detected.

We cut the run short so that we finish around the same time we usually do. Hopefully it will further reinforce the veneer of normalcy. We also need to eat and swap clothing in the Canteen. At the Canteen we set each other's clothes at benches, fetch food, and then sit at our own clothes. After breakfast we join the others in our normal routines.

Now that the attempt is upon us I have waiting-knots in my stomach again. The failure of the tests last night also heightens my nervousness. None of the others have broached the subject and I do not want to worry them either. There are still eight hours for me to work out how to make the shot.

We all eat before making our way, one by one, to the men's ablutions. Isabella and I are both wary not to show our faces by wearing caps low over our faces. As I enter one of the other prisoners is coming out and gives me a strange look, then his eyes widen and he looks around at the camera positions. I shake my head and flare my eyes as he glances back to me. He nods imperceptibly before walking on. With all this preparation we cannot afford to attract attention, at this final stage. I walk into the ablutions and can feel my skin is flushed, a light perspiration immediately apparent under my shirt.

A single light tap on the last cubicle door alerts Isabella to my presence and she lets me in quickly. We remain silent, the nervous energy raising our body temperatures, making me worry that someone will sense us hiding. Before lights out Connor, Ronan and Cronan join us. The initial attempt to have all of us fit into a single cubicle fails due to lack of space and the men end up waiting in the next cubicle.

The lights finally go out, enveloping us in darkness. The latch of the next door clicks and the door swings open so I fumble toward our door but bump into Isabella. "Wait," I whisper and move forward again alone to the door to open it and join the others in the open space. A faint light from the corridor helps us find the service hatch and slide through into the service space and then into the cavity at the base of the tower.

"OK Katniss, you're up," whispers Connor.

I can barely see their faces. Thankfully they cannot see mine either because I am so nervous it would show in my eyes if there was enough light. Holding the wall steadies me as I climb to the top of the staircase. At the top it is lighter. The glow of the prison lights and the moon once more provide ample light for me to see the bow and single remaining arrow, and when I look out the window, the faint target in the distance.

Connor joins me at the top. "OK, let me tie the string to the arrow."

"No, let me. I need to get the balance right. You get the string and cable and tie them. Make sure they are not tangled. "

He hands me the one end of the string and get to work tying the other end to the cable. I tie the string closer to the front of the arrow so that it won't catch the bow when I release. Then I start looking out, measuring the shot. I see the mark on the tower, the fence, the target beyond it. What angle am I going to choose? Then I look at the fence again.

"Connor, when the arrow stops, the string will fall on the fence!"

He steps up and looks out as well. "The string needs to stay taut. I will have to guide it and when the arrow hits the target I will hold it. When Matteo starts pulling it I will let it out gradually. I'll keep the tension on."

"But that will add resistance to the arrow's flight. I don't know if it will fly far enough." This shot is hard enough, with the extra drag it is nigh impossible.

"I saw you hit those soldiers, you can work it out," Connor says in his most reassuring tone, but I am not reassured.

My failures last night I kept secret but now I fear I should have shared the results. Everyone is relying on me but my own desperation to escape has clouded my judgement. This is the only attempt we can make. Once the bow launches the arrow there is no turning back. The guards will discover the cable in the morning and we will either be far away from here or they will be hunting for us and I cannot imagine what punishment there will be although I expect it to be severe. No-one has tried to escape so far as I know but I do know what happened to Connor.

Once I have the string tied and am certain it will stay tied I start to assess the shot again. After five minutes of looking at the target, the mark on the tower, the fence I think I have over-thought the issue and I am more confused than ever. Higher than my first shot? The same? Definitely not lower. If it is higher it may fly over the target and disappear. That would probably be better than too low. Will Matteo see it though?

I step away from the window to clear my mind and see Connor with five bamboo tubes. "What are they for?"

"Once we have the cable tied these fit over the cable. We hold on and slide to the other side."

"Like a zipl… a flying fox," I say, remembering the conversation with Cronan.

"Exactly. The faster we go across the less chance of detection. We have about 10 minutes before Matteo is in position. Go down and tell the others. When you come back just take the shot, don't overthink it. Don't worry about if it is going too high or too low."

Heading down the stairs, I wonder if he could hear what I was thinking. How did he know? At the bottom I explain everything to the others.

"Who goes first?" asks Isabella.

"Connor," I say immediately. It makes sense, he can set up and help Matteo on guard. "After that, Isabella, Ronan, Cronan, then me."

I want the two younger people to go first, then Cronan. The strongest always go first and last. If they discover us I can put up a good fight while the others make a run for it. Connor and I will protect the others.

"Katniss!" a hoarse whisper comes from above us. It is time. I head up the stairs and at the top take the bow and arrow up, ensuring the string is not tangled at all. Connor has his jacket off and is using the sleeves to allow the string to run free over his hands without hampering its run too much.

Stepping to the window brings on a fresh bout of nerves but I takes Connor's advice and close my eyes, blocking out everything. My father always taught me to breath properly before a shot. Never be out of breath, he would say. Air is more important than water or food, breath in lots of air but make sure you breath out all the old breath completely. I exhale completely, then take a deep breath, open my eyes, draw back the string, aim above my first mark on the tower, and release.

The arrow flies straight, the string aligned with the distant target, but my concern is the power and angle. I track it as it arcs over the fence, trailing the string that I can hear rasping over Connor's jacket. The arrow start to fall but it is dipping toward the target. It hits! As I start to say 'hold' Connor pulls back on the rope and the string straightens, remaining four metres above the charged fence.

I did it! I want to shout out in relief and joy but I bite back on my words, keeping myself to a stifled 'yes'. I watch as Connor loops the string around the bow, which he took without me noticing. Connor moves to the window and waves his arm. Looking past him, I see a figure appear near the tree. Matteo! He has stuck by the plan! He reaches up and takes the arrow out of the tree, then walks backward into the shadow. Connor slowly releases the string.

Minutes go by as Matteo pulls first the string and then the cable, until only the cable is visible from the window. There were a few moments when the tension slacked and the cable almost touched the fence but Connor and Matteo managed to stop it. When the progression of the cable stops Connor waits by the window until Matteo reappears from the shadow and waves. He has tied the cable. Connor loops the cable around the top stair and pulls hard until the cable is as taut as he can make it. He secures the cable and slots the first bamboo tube over the cable.

He sits on the window ledge and positions himself to swing onto the cable. He hooks his jacket over the cable behind the tube. "Make sure each person goes feet first. It is more difficult to get on but it is safer on the slide down. They can also use their hands to control the speed. Wait until I am in the trees, then send them one by one."  
I nod, then watch as he drops off the window ledge and hooks his legs over the bamboo pole. His weight immediately draws him away and down, accelerating toward the tree. As I watch him go I see the Matteo has removed the target.

Connor is travelling at pace. There is a slight hum as he crosses the fence and pulls on the jacket to slow down. Then he is gone, swallowed by the shadow beneath the trees. The cable bounces, then starts to settle. Did he make it? Or did he crash into a tree-trunk? It would depend on how Matteo tied the cable. Please let him be safe. He is my only contact from before the prison and he can get me to Farrell and home to my family. Relief washes over me again as I see Connor step out from the darkness and wave his arm.

Isabella and Ronan follow, easily swinging onto the tube and flying away from this place. Youth has its benefits. Then it is Cronan's turn. I explain the process and stand close to the window to place his tube onto the cable. The gap in the tube is not as large as the previous ones and I struggle to fit it along the entire length. I turn it to try fitting it on the other side first but as I flick it over it catches the cable and pulls out of my hands.

I watch it tumble end over end to the ground where it strikes with a clatter on the stone. No! Did the guards hear it? Or maybe the cameras picked up the movement. I draw back to the shadow by the window and hold my breath. I am not sure why, perhaps to stay as quiet as possible. When there is no alarm or sign of detection I turn back to Cronan, who hands me the next tube. I take a breath and slowly fit the tube to the cable.

"OK, your turn," I say. "Remember to swing your legs up to hold the tube. Use your jacket to slow down at the end." I turn around when he doesn't step forward. "Cronan?"

He stands looking at me with a strange look on his face. "It's your turn, Katniss."

"No, we agreed I will go last," I say.

"That's right."

"Then go," I insist, a little frustrated that he is not getting on with it.

"Katniss, … there were only five tubes."

"Only five tu …" Oh no! I dropped one. There is one tube and two of us. I dropped the tube, it's my fault. One of us has to stay behind. I look around for something else that we could use to slide. The bow! I pick it up to see if it will suffice.

"Katniss, that won't work," says Cronan.

I can't leave him behind. "Maybe we can go together."

"It won't be strong enough. You need to go. Now. You are putting the others in danger."  
"But when the guards see the equipment in the morning…"

"It's OK Katniss. I'm an old man. You need to get to your family," he says, pointing down the cable.

"No."

"Yes, you know I am right. I lost my Rebecca a long time ago. A parent should not outlive their children. I will be fine. What can they do to me? Go Katniss, go. Please."

I hug him tight, tears in my eyes. "But this is my fault," I say with a faint hope he changes his mind.

"I wouldn't be up here now if it wasn't for you, Katniss."  
"I'll get help back home, I'll come back for you," I say, but the words seem like a child's vain fantasy.

"Katniss, there is only one thing you can do for me. Give this old man some hope. Get home. Bring help. But not for me. Save my Ireland."

Then he pushes me gently toward the window. I hug him again, give him a kiss on his cheek and swing onto the ledge, then onto the tube and I am sliding away from the tower. I look backward and see Cronan, upside down in my view, watching me slide away. He waves and I can see a smile on his face. Then I have to focus on my own predicament, I am rushing toward the base of the zipline. Pressure on the jacket slows me at the end but my tube still hits the end of the cable attached to a branch and I crash to the ground hard. Landing on my back knocks the wind out of me.

Connor is there almost immediately, helping me to my feet. Breath comes hard just getting up. "Where's Cronan?" he asks.

I shake my head, unable to speak. Is it because of my landing or the emotion of leaving Cronan behind? Connor sees the tears in my eyes and realises Cronan is staying behind, although the reason is unclear to him. Without asking anything else, he turns to the others, who are all standing nearby watching us.

"Let's go," he says, and heads north, winding his way down through the trees and away from The Rock, and I follow close behind, taking my first steps toward home.


	36. Chapter 36

Day 133 - Kilfeacle

Dawn starts to help the moon show us our destination. There is a small island, once the top of a hill, directly in our path. Connor has used the stars to navigate south-west from Cashel toward what he calls a 'safe house'. Time is of the essence. We need to be underground before the Union starts to look for us or else their tech will find us. Ronan says it is thermal imaging. Connor had to explain about a special camera that picks up differences in heat. Human bodies are hotter than the surrounding land and buildings and show up. It can even see heat through walls.

We have all taken turns rowing but Connor has contributed the most. He has amazing stamina, especially for someone incarcerated for nearly four months. I was worried about his injuries but he waved me away, saying something about nagging under his breath. So I let him row. We weaved our way past a number of islands until Connor finally pointed out our destination. "Kilfeacle, we can hide there."

Now that the island is in sight Ronan and Matteo have taken over the rowing. Connor kneels in the stern and studies the island, I think for a landing site. After a few minutes he says something in Irish to Ronan who slows his stroke and we start to bear off toward the northern side of the island.

The boat we found near the pier on the western outskirts of Cashel. Connor insisted we find a boat that would go undetected for a few days. The boat is a small rowing boat, not a working boat. If the locals find out that prisoners have escaped they may hide the loss completely. Cashel was never a fishing town but when the waters rose the fish came as well. The locals needed a food source to replace agriculture and fishing was the obvious choice. It helped that many people who lived on the coast had moved inland when the water rose, and had the necessary skills to teach the locals.

"There," says Connor, pointing to a break in the treeline where a path is invisible unless someone indicates where it is. He directs Ronan and Matteo until the boat bottoms out and then he jumps into the water and pushes. Ronan and Matteo follow suit, relieving the boat of weight and allowing it to glide into the shore. They pull the boat up to the land so that Isabella and I can step onto land without getting wet. Despite the androgynous prison uniforms robbing us of any femininity these men still demonstrate chivalry – something that has gone from Panem for many years.

The three men drag the boat under the trees and cover it with branches. The fresh smell of broken pine trees is sharp in the dawn. It brings memories of Gale and me setting snares, back when I was young but providing for my family. Prim and my mother. They were my family back then, after my father died in the mine, robbing us of our bread winner.

Connor tries to cover the marks from the water and dragging but with limited success. He looks to the east where the sun is about to top the horizon and makes a decision to cease the attempt. Without a word he starts up the pathway. The rest of us glance at each other before we realise he is leaving and we jog to catch up.

Connor stays under the trees for as long as he can, weaving along a ragged line of trees that look like they once followed a single lane road up a slight incline. Where the trees end there is a cart track with stone walls on both sides, overgrown with climbers that look like brambles. We squat down in a circle under a tree.

"The guards are close to discovering that we are gone. I hope Cronan can delay them, perhaps he can convince them we are still there, hidden away," says Connor. "Now we need to get to the house undetected. The only way to get caught here is if a drone sees us. To avoid that we need to get to the house over there," he says, gesturing, "and get into the basement. We cannot go as a group so we will split. Two of you need to crawl along the wall, I suggest on the western side to avoid the sun. The shadow will help disguise you. Follow the road to the second gate. There are trees to provide some cover, but not a lot. Two need to run west to the trees over there, then follow the trees to the second house you find."

He looks around to check we are all listening. Connor has taken the mantle of leader. Yes, he knows where we are going, but it is more. It is not just his age, as the oldest here. He has a natural leadership, a quiet confidence and intelligence. When he looks at you he sees into you. Now he looks at the four of us one by one and when he is finished each of us know we will follow his lead.

"What about you?" I ask.

"Give me about ten minutes, then start on your courses in one minute intervals. Road, trees, road, trees."

"But which way are you going?" asks Ronan.

"Straight across the field, to the first house. From there I can follow a path to the next house. They won't suspect one man on his own, walking in the open."

"You're wearing a prison uniform…," I pick up where Ronan stopped, expressing the concern all of us feel.

Connor rises from his squatting position and takes off his shirt to expose an impressively lithe and muscular physique. He ties the shirt around his waist, the shirt-arms knotted together at the front. He winks at me, a mischievous look in his eye, and then turns and strides out across the field, his pale skin glaring against the lush green background of trees and grass. Isabella is laughing and when I look at her, she is laughing at me. So are the others, except not as loudly.

"What?" is all I can manage but that brings on even more laughter. Then I realise I was staring at Connor. Was I staring that much? He does have a good body, not as strong as Peeta, but more athletic. I start to laugh as well, embarrassed to be caught but comfortable with the people around me, even Matteo.

The laughing breaks the tension we have all felt. It isn't just the escape but the planning and waiting for the right day. Even more than that, the realisation that we are out of the prison, that we are in control of our own movement and actions, a gift of freedom. Because of the situation, something so small triggers a flood of emotion and I am glad it is laughter and not tears. Ronan is sitting now, tears flowing. I see Isabella wipe a tear as well. We laugh for what must be five minutes. I hug Isabella and then Ronan.

Seeing Matteo look on, I walk to him and, hugging him too, whisper a 'thank you' in his ear. When I step away he nods, a quiet nod of understanding. This brave man, who can barely speak our language, who helped me when I was in the clinic, without whom we would not be out now, who has risked his life to help us, deserves more than that whisper, but tells me with that nod that it is enough. We all owe him our freedom, our lives. Can we ever repay that debt?

Ronan breaks the mood with a reminder that we need to follow Connor. We decide the men will make for the trees and the women will follow the road. Ronan goes first, followed by Isabella, Matteo and lastly, me. I see Matteo disappear under the trees before I start down the road, walking as close to the eastern wall as I can. Isabella is visible in the distance. She stops, looks around, then breaks from the wall and crosses the road, vanishing from my view. She must be through the gate Connor mentioned.

Two minutes later I make it to the gate and repeat Isabella's survey and when I see nothing untoward I cross the road as well. The house ahead of me reminds me of the one where Connor and I fought the soldiers so I stop by the gate, hunkering down. Memories flash. The rescue, the march, the fight at the farmhouse. How many days has it been since I saw Shar and Farrell? I cannot risk capture again, so I wait in the shadows by the gate. I am not sure why I do, if there were soldiers they would find me. All the technology they have would make any attempt at evasion futile. Being in the prison clothes, blending into a village would be difficult. Where is Isabella? Connor?

My nerves and the uncomfortable sweat on my forehead and neck add to my tension. Forgotten is the laughter of a few minutes ago as I wait in silence, watching the house, listening for any sound that is out of place in this secluded hilltop, this island that appears abandoned. I have no weapons, no bow, no rifle, no gun. What do I do if something is wrong? My only option would be to hide. But how would I get to Shar and home without Connor. I have no idea of where I am.

Then I see Connor! He is looking out the window, searching. For me I suppose. I rise and am about to step out from the shadow of the wall when I hear a sound coming from the east. A helicopter! I drop to the moist ground and roll hard up against the cold moss-covered wall, sliding into an overgrown bed ofsweet-smelling leafy bushes that looks a lot like rosemary. I do not know if Connor is away from the window but I do not dare look.  
I sigh as the helicopter flies rapidly over the area, but then I hear it swing back and circle over the house. Once, twice. On the third loop the sound of the engine and rotors change as the helicopter descends and lands on the grass between the house and my position, visible through a small gap in the bushes. Please, please let the others be safe! The bushes obscure the view of the house but I dare not look out from the bushes to see what is happening. A voice shouts in an unknown language and a few moments later I hear the door kicked in, followed by boots on a wooden floor.

The guards must have discovered our escape. So early. The expectation was for at least two hours of daytime before they had widened the circle, or at least that was Connor's expectation. I send out a mental wish that Cronan is all right. Will they beat him as they did Connor? He is an old man. Perhaps he managed to evade detection, make it back to his cell. It is my fault he is still there. I remember my promise to him; I will get him out.

Connor mentioned a place to hide here at the house. Was it like Farrell's farm, with an underground tunnel or cavity? Terrible thoughts race through my mind, vivid images of capture, torture, and worse. Minutes go by without any sound except the helicopter in idle. I am still lying rigid under the bushes, ants crawling over my arm, when the engine of the helicopter kicks out of idle and the helicopter lifts off and flies to the west.  
Despite the helicopter leaving I remain under the bush, thoughts of the soldiers at Farrell's house keeping me hidden. Last time with Shar we were too hasty. Now I mean to be conservative, wait it out. I am not going back to prison before I see my family.

The day start getting hotter. Usually there is cloud cover but today the sun is out in force. Not that I can see it, hidden under the bush, but the light is brighter than usual. The cool of the wall and damp ground keep me comfortable but when I finally extricate myself from my self-inflicted tangle it will be hot.

A whisper breaks my reverie. "Katniss? Katniss? Where are you?" It is Connor! I wriggle so he can see where I am. I hear him laugh as he starts to pull the bush away from me. "Here," he calls and footsteps approach. Ronan helps him pull me out, branches and twigs fighting to prevent my leaving.

"Ow!" I protest at a particularly robust tug. When I am free of the bushes and standing Ronan points to my skin. In places it is red with welts. "You see, I told you to be more gentle!" I scold.

"Can you not tell the difference between scratches and a rash?" says Ronan. I look closer and realise he is correct. The marks are a rash, and it is getting itchy. Everywhere my skin is exposed is turning red.

"Lets get you inside, we may have some medicines," says Connor.

"Will the helicopters come back?" I ask.

"They will, but not yet. More likely drones will start scanning the area and if they pick something up the helicopters will come. We have to be careful about when, and how, we leave. There's no dry way off the island but boat," answers Connor, "and besides, you aren't going anywhere for at least a week".


	37. Chapter 37

Day 138 – New Dublin

We approach New Dublin in the middle of the night, carefully avoiding detection. Connor leads us alongside hedges and walls, through gardens and any cover he can find. Always moving closer to the town centre and always minimising exposure to the sky. It is fortuitous that there is substantial cloud cover. Not that cloud cover is unusual here. After an hour of suburban stealth I suddenly recognise the garden we are in. We crossed here after we rescued Shar from the prison. Are we headed for the same garage where they had the truck hidden?

I move forward in our group, past Isabella and Matteo, to Connor. "Are we getting another truck?"

I cannot see his face but I hear the smile in his voice, "That's a good memory you have. We are going to the same house but not for transport, we need to figure a few things out here before we move on."

Connor has kept us all guessing about his plans. He has lead us from the Kinfeacle hideout to New Dublin without explanation of his proposed route or actions. I have heard Ronan ask him what the next steps are numerous times without success. My own queries remained unanswered as well. His only response has been a dismissive "It is best you not know." Matteo and Isabella seem too lost in a strange country to question anything.

We make it to the house without further interaction or incident. Connor then beckons us to cross one at a time. Ronan insists on crossing the street last, as usual acting as the rear-guard. Once inside I am surprised to see Connor open a secret door in the rear wall and guide us through to another garden, this one covered with overhead vines. He moves to a section of fence and lifts it to expose the next yard. Once we are all through Ronan helps him replace the fence. Then Connor leads us into the house.

So this is how the movement keeps hidden from the Union. Never entering properties from their real entrances. The intricacy of the hiding places, the stealth of movement, all contribute to most rebels avoiding capture. I marvel at the different methods, from the tunnels at Farrell's farmhouse and the secret doors here to the false rooms at the house in Kinfeacle.

After the soldiers had left in the helicopter and the men extricated me from the bushes at the front gate I found out how the others had remained undetected. In the house there was a small room without windows and a door that looked like a wall. Although it was stuffy when hiding four or five people for extended periods it was virtually impossible to discover. We used the room twice more in the six days that followed, as soldiers searched and searched again for escapees.

On the sixth day, with my rash almost completely clear and with the stored food close to finished, Connor made the decision it was safer to move on than stay. The last visit by soldiers, when they started knocking on the walls to see if any were not solid brick, triggered the decision. He decided it was only a matter of time until the soldiers discovered us.

We left in the early evening, in civilian clothes stored at the safe house, heading west and wading across the small channel of water separating Kinfeacle Island from New Dublin's bigger island New Dublin. About half the channel was deeper that the height of a tall man. Isabella had to swim more than the rest of us. Crossing the hundred and fifty metres between the two islands was dangerous, more so because of the risk of discovery than drowning, although there was a slight current running through the channel.

Now we are in the next safe house, dry after a 10 kilometre sneak through fields and along small country roads to New Dublin. Thankfully the rain has stayed away. The house is small, with furnishings that are old, like all the other houses I have seen in Ireland. Some houses have very old paper on the walls whilst others have peeling paint or whitewash. The Irish have a subsistence economy at best, drained by the Union of natural resources such as lumber and minerals. Few people can afford more than the essentials for living such as food.

We are all exhausted from the physical, mental and emotional stress. Connor assigns watches, starting with Matteo, and the rest of us bed down for some much needed rest. After sleeping on the floor of the secret room for six nights, in complete darkness, the change to sleeping on a bed, with a down duvet slowly moulding to my body shape, I finally feel free and relax, sinking into oblivion.


	38. Chapter 38

Day 139 - Delay

Pale light frames the thin curtains of the room where Isabella and I slept. Memories of the trek last night slowly invade my consciousness and I suddenly sit up straight as I realise I did not wake for my guard shift. Connor was supposed to wake me after his shift. Isabella's bed is empty so I dress quickly and go in search of the others.

I enter the main room to find Matteo and Isabella sitting on a worn couch that looks like it was originally green. They are talking Italian. Their proximity to each other and the low volume adds a conspiratorial air to the situation. Adding to that is the sudden halt to the conversation when Matteo sees me.

"Katniss! I … I did not see you … Are you well? No tired? … How long you been there?" His eyes are guilty, and show fear of possible revelation. What have they been discussing? I do not want to upset them so I reply briefly and change the subject.

"I walked in just now. Where are the others?"

"They are go to see … places. Thomas, another friend, came early."

Thomas? What was his name? Thomas Moynihan? Farrell's brother-in-law. Good, that will mean we can join up with Farrell and the others. I can see Shar; make sure she is all right. Then we can implement his plan to return to Panem. He would not tell anyone the plan so that if the Union captured one of us we would not reveal the detail. Even though that happened to Connor and me, the soldiers never asked about plans. At least I wasn't asked. Connor? I guess he will not tell me, either way.

"Thanks, that is good news. I suppose we must wait for them. Is there any food?"

"Yes, there is food, but Thomas was not happy when he was here, something is wrong," says Isabella.

She goes to the kitchen to prepare a simple breakfast of round bread, cheese and a fruit preserve, which we eat in the main room. As we eat reasons why Thomas is unhappy pop into my head, none of them good for our escape. To add to the discomfort the other two keep looking at each other. Something is going on between them and the tension becomes too much for me, so I go back to the bedroom after the meal and rest on the bed, trying to clear my mind of negative scenarios but failing.

It is near dusk when the front door clicks open. I leap from my bed and in my haste fumble at the door handle. Frustration at my haste causes me to burst through the door, surprising everyone in the room. There are five people in the room, Isabella and Matteo, Ronan and Connor, and Thomas Moynihan, all staring at me. I compose myself and pretend to be calm by walking over to Thomas and giving him a hug.

"It's good to see you Katniss, I'm so glad you are alright," He says as he returns my hug with interest. "We were worried for you and Connor, we did not know where you had been taken, or even if you were alive."

I turn to Connor. "Where did you go?"

"Thomas took us to see some friends, to share news. Let's sit down, we all need to talk."

We all sit down around a low wooden coffee table, Connor and Matteo taking single chairs and the rest of us sharing couches, the Irish on one side of the table and the women on the other. There is an awkward expectation and I am especially guilty. I enfold Isabella's left hand in my hands, seeking to share our strength.

"Thomas checks the safe house every day. He was hoping to find us at some stage. Not just you and me Katniss, but also Farrell, Aiden, Ailin and Shar. They have disappeared as well," Connors words come out slowly but they strike me hard. Shar was my responsibility and I have failed her. Has the Union taken her?

Before I can ask any questions Thomas starts talking, his unfamiliar voice as disturbing as his news. "We have been searching as much as we can whilst remaining safe and undetected. The first place we looked was the safe house where they captured you, plus the other houses linked by tunnels. Nothing. No people, no sign of fighting, no supplies taken either."

He pauses, letting his words sink in a little. "Plans were drawn up to do a complete search of our network. We sent out messages, friends went to all the locations we keep. It was as if you had all disappeared. Although we could see evidence of the fight, there were no bodies. We found blood and feared the worst. Then we realised there was not enough for all of you. We saw the marks and realised you had been captured, so at least you were alive."

"OK, but what about the others?" my frustration is evident but Thomas does not deserve the vitriol in my voice.

Startled, he stammers his reply, "They … we … we do not know. The Union burnt Farrell's house, as well as the second house connected by the tunnel. Aiden's house stands empty, the gardens overgrown without care. Our network assumed the worst - that the Union took you to Europe."

"There is one option left," Connor interjects. "No-one but Farrell and I knew of our escape plan. I shared it with Thomas this morning. There is a plane I hid away…"

"Where? We need to get to it. We could be too late! Why didn't you tell us that when you came in? Instead of all this …"

"Katniss! Hold on now!" Connor is calm but firm and I back down. "It is a possibility that they went there but unless they can find a pilot they cannot use it. It is my plane, and an old one at that. I am the pilot. Not many around can still fly old planes."

"We should go there anyway, if it is the only possibility," I suggest, more demurely than my previous interruption.

"Thomas and the others agree, but we need to be careful. The last week has been difficult, dangerous, for the network. The Union is looking for the five of us everywhere. They are searching the towns, all boats. There is a curfew too. We are extremely lucky to be here. Your fight with the plants was a boon because it delayed us. If we came here five days ago, it is almost certain they would have caught us. The search has moved away from here now and so there are fewer troops in this area," Connor says.

Thomas rises from the couch he shares with Ronan. "I need to finalise plans with the network to arrange assistance. Katniss, the risk to our network is high. I know you want to go home, but we cannot allow you to add to the risk. You need to follow orders, do what is best for everyone. If you do not agree, we will not help."

I nod my head as I see everyone looking at me. Although I need to find Shar I cannot do so without the help of the locals.

Thomas and Connor exchange a look, then Thomas turns toward the door, but Matteo stands and looks nervously at Isabella and me before directing his words to Thomas, "Thomas, you must know, Isabella and me, we want a boat. We want to go to Italy."

There is complete quiet, even from me. I look at Isabella but she avoids my gaze, choosing rather to keep her eyes on Matteo. We had agreed we were going to Panem together. As a family. I cannot make it home alone. I still have her hand in mine so I squeeze it gently but she continues to avoid me.

"That is something to discuss later," says Connor, "for now we stay together, travel to the aerodrome, and find Farrell's group. After that we can discuss splitting up." He stands and joins Thomas, who may be regretting his involvement. Together they exit through the front door.

Suddenly I just want to be at home, hugging Peeta, holding my children, leaving the world to itself. I was safe in 12 with my family around me. All I needed was Jewel and Stone, Peeta and Haymitch. I wish I had been less hasty, that I never heard of Farrell Laughlin. I stand and start toward the front door but remember we have to stay in the house. Turning with a growl of frustration, I head into the bedroom, close the door behind me harder than necessary and lay down on the bed. As I lay down, I know the image of the people in the next room will stick in my mind.


	39. Chapter 39

Day 145 - Cork

This morning I woke with a mix of emotions. Connor told us we will reach our destination today which lifted my spirits a little. I have been away from home for over four months, which hurts me to my core. More significantly, and something which pulls my demeanour down, is that today is my birthday. My last birthday was with Peeta and the children and they made it a real celebration. Forty-five is a significant age in District 12 because that was the average life expectancy of miners during Snow's dictatorship. The district treated anyone who reached the age with a special gift, usually food. Relatives and close friends would gather at the person's house in the evening after the shift was finished. It used to be in the morning, until a man named Frank Curdy died on the shift. People said the celebration cursed him. After that they waited until the shift was finished. I haven't told anyone here it is my birthday, I do not need the looks I know I will get, the looks of pity. It will depress me more than keeping it to myself.

Six days of travel have brought us to our destination – Cork Airport. We moved south west through the countryside and then turned east along a finger of land to a place called Farmer's Cross. Travelling mostly at night to avoid detection, we skipped from one house to another. Four of the houses were abandoned farms, the other two were sympathetic farmers who hid us. The former were hard, as we have travelled with little in the way of provisions.

We have been hiding for two hours whilst Connor and Thomas reconnoitre the buildings next to the abandoned airfield. The flat and mostly grassed area has two kilometre-scale strips of concrete and tar crossing in the middle.

To the east of where I hide with Ronan, Isabella and Matteo is probably the largest building I have seen outside the Capitol, soaring four or five storeys. It is in a state of disrepair but stands proudly against the wind, like an old soldier refusing to leave his post, regardless of the outcome of the war. The building is made of metal pylons and girders with some sections still housing the glass, metal and concrete materials that served as the walls of the previously enclosed space. The roof is a thin wave of material, like a flattened S. The building would have been magnificent, in the times before the seas rose and the wars decimated the human population.

Other smaller, dilapidated concrete buildings are dotted around the main building. Connor and Thomas are checking these buildings. They are covering the surrounding area to ensure there are no Union personnel or remote devices. Although the buildings look abandoned, the Union patrols go everywhere looking for potential rebel hideouts.

Aircraft stand scattered across the landscape in varying stages of decay and destruction. Even though they are nothing like the hovercraft we have in Panem I recognise them for what they are: machines that can fly. Wings, engines, tails, they all have the same characteristics. Some are large, some are as small as the two-seater craft Tarn flew. Unfortunately none look capable of flight.

The journey has been difficult due to tension in our group. Thomas has travelled with us even though his priority is different to the foreigners in the group. I need to get back to Panem, Isabella and Matteo want to return to Italy. No one is talking past Cork but the longer we avoid the topic the tighter the tension becomes. The words keep fighting to break out but I hold them back because of Thomas's warning at the safe house. Ronan and Connor are trying to keep a balance between Thomas and the rest of us. I am not sure what their intentions are. We have to talk about it soon though and I am dreading the outcome.

The additional, personal tension within me drives all my thoughts and actions. It has been five months since I said good-bye to my family. I constantly think of Stone, that bold, boisterous boy. He will be alright I am sure, he is strong and resilient. We named him well. I worry more about my scintillating Jewel, who must be maturing so quickly without her mother, just as I did when I was her age. Young girls need their mothers. When we lost my father in the mine my mother withdrew from reality, forcing me to take more responsibility; will my absence do the same to Jewel? At least the children have Peeta. He is a good parent. He will be strong for them, as he was for me before and after the rebellion. I think of him too, aching for him to be here to tell me everything is going to plan, that we will be together soon. But somewhere in the recesses of my mind the deep voice of Coin lingers, echoing words of hate and despair.

"Look," says Matteo quietly, pointing to the main building. Thomas is there, waving his arm in the air, beckoning for us. We all gather our packs, Ronan and I carrying weapons as well. Looking around as we do, we walk across the flat ground to where Thomas is waiting. I can see he is not happy as we approach. As we reach him he turns and leads us into the main building without a word.

There is broken glass across the floor and holes in the roof high above us. The wind has picked up and is blowing dust and debris across the polished stone floor. Thomas crosses to the back of the building where doors and smaller rooms are visible. There are bullet marks on the walls and around one door in particular.

Inside that room we find Connor, sitting in a corner. More chunks of concrete litter the floor, the debris from more bullet holes. There has been a fight here. Connor slouches, unusual for a man who always sits up straight. Ronan and Isabella sit down against a wall but the rest of us continue standing. I stare at Connor and he looks back at me, expressionless.

"Farrell? The plane?" I ask softly, knowing the answer already.

He shakes his head, "No sign of Farrell or the others."

"…And the plane?" I ask again, my hopes of going home fading by the second.

"It's here," Connor replies to my surprise, renewing my hope. Despite Connor's assumption that only he could fly the plane, I thought Farrell would have managed to escape.

"We can go then!" says Matteo excitedly, standing next to me, a satchel looped over his right shoulder.

Then I realise there is something else.

"Can it fly?" I ask.

Connor thumbs in the direction of the door on the opposite side of the room, his lips pursed together in resignation. I walk through the door, Matteo and Ronan following close behind.

In the middle of the huge open space behind the room, beneath the roof with more holes than cover, in a building far below the grandeur of it's past, with the elements invading where once they could not, I collapse to the floor, and stare at the shell of an ancient aircraft. The burnt shell is beyond repair, the aircraft forever a promise of home that will remain unfulfilled. The Union must have found it and firebombed it to render it unusable. This was my way home, this burnt-out shell of scrap metal. This was the way back to my family. And the Union have taken it away from me!

…

I do not know how but I am back in the room sitting against the wall. Isabella is holding my hand, Ronan is crouched in front on me, hand on my knee for balance, concern dominating his visage.

"Katniss, can you hear me? Katniss, we need to move away from here. It is getting dark," says Ronan.

He is right, it is dark in the room and I see through the western door that the sun is setting. How long since I saw the plane? What happened afterward? I look around and see the other three men sitting against the walls, all with their arms wrapped around raised knees. They are all watching me. I stand self-consciously and cross to the eastern door at the back of the room, where I stare at the plane, hoping beyond hope that what I first saw was an illusion, but again I am disappointed.

Anger wells up inside me as the image of the plane burns into my retina and my soul. They are keeping me from my family! They have put my family in danger by taking away my ride home.

Coin is a lunatic but a smart one. He will hurt them unless I can protect them. I am going to kill him. I have killed one of his family before; I can kill him too.

I turn around and look at my five companions and say, "get up, let's go. We have work to do."

They all stare at me, shocked by the sudden transformation. I walk across to my pack, shouldering it with my quiver and taking up my bow and rifle.

It doesn't matter if Coin has a whole nation under his heel. I have destroyed a President; I can destroy him too.

But first! First there is the matter of getting home.

"The Union destroyed our plane, they are going to have supply a new one! If they don't, they die."

With that I walk out of the room, back along our path toward the setting sun. There is scuffling behind me as the others all scramble to follow.

I brought down a regime; I can do it again! If the Union wants a fight they picked on the wrong woman! Fighting and surviving is what I do best. I am Katniss Everdeen!


End file.
